Angels Wear Chanel
by Moonlight on the Water
Summary: He was hired by a Mudblood that had a face like an angel, played like the devil, and had a heart that had to be a block of ice. A woman of contrasts. He was really in for it . . .'
1. Angels Wear Chanel

Angels Wear Chanel  
  
Disclaimer; I do not own any of J.K.Rowling's Characters, or Chanel. Chanel belongs to Gabrielle Bonheur Coco Chanel, so please don't sue me. (or rather Karl Lagerfield or who ever)  
  
Draco Malfoy sat in the hard stone- cold chair in his small, rented apartment. In his lap were several white envelopes: results of owl mail and the results of his job searching. It was really rather amusing to him, in an ironic sort of way. He, Draco Malfoy, the King of Slytherin was job hunting, and desperate. He laughed bitterly. He should be lying in a huge comfortable chair, with a bag of gold at his feet, and thousands more in the cellar. Instead, he barely had one hundred Galleons to rub together.  
  
The reason was the overthrow of the Dark Lord, and the regime of the New Minister Of magic. When the Dark Lord was overthrown, his father was killed and a raid conducted on the Malfoy Manor. The tons of Dark Things that his father had kept caused him and his mother all the Malfoy money, and more. His mother had died in shock. He had to sell the Malfoy Manor, and finish paying out; all he had was the meagre amount, and it wouldn't last. Rent had to be paid, bills to be paid, clothes and food to be bought.  
  
He cursed silently and brought himself to the present. In his lap there lay about thirty refusals that didn't help him at all. He swept them all to the floor and was about to stand when he noticed one last small envelope. He slit it open, not really expecting anything.  
  
It was short. "Draco Malfoy, You have been accepted for an interview with the manager and owner of Jewellery Exquisite. You are expected to be there at nine o' clock. Please be punctual. Directions are included on the back.  
  
Mrs. V. Potter Personal Assistant  
  
Hmm. He knew Jewellery Exquisite. It was a "supposedly Muggle" shop, that actually was run by wizards. Well, be punctual. He didn't have much choice did he? Not at all. He got up and rifled his wardrobe, trying to decide what he would wear.  
  
Next morning, bright and early, a handsome young man emerged from the small apartment. He was wearing semi formal clothes, and his long blond hair was well slicked back. With a look, he started briskly out on foot.  
  
He hated this. He should have a limo. Instead he was walking, since he didn't have any money for bus fare. Plus, he hated walking. He continued walking, then stopped, cursing to himself silently. He had nearly walked past the place!  
  
He hurried towards it. It was a huge white building, with huge store windows, displaying exotic and rare gems, both loose and in sets. It was actually a very tasteful display, with huge and wonderful sets in the centre, each surrounding by loose gems, of the finest quality. Huge rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds were in one, while beautiful white, cream, gold, peach, pink, blue and last of all black pearls adorned another. In yet another was fine turquoises. The display was so rich it took his breath away. And he was a Malfoy. He consulted his directions. He soon reached upstairs.  
  
It was simple, with an aquarium. The P.A. (personal assistant) of his hopefully future boss was sitting at her desk. A redhead, wearing a black suit . . .hmm, red hair. Familiar. He knew her, and the plaque Mrs. V. Potter was familiar. She turned her eyes up, deep chocolate brown to his steel grey ones, and said "Mr. Malfoy, could you please wait here?" She indicated some beautiful plush seats near to the aquarium. Now he recognized her. Ginny Weasley. Formerly scum to him, of Muggle loving purebloods, he would never had looked at her. Now he was obeying her.  
  
He sat, and examined the fish till she told him "The boss will see you now." She looked towards the door. Her hair might have been fire, but her voice was ice.  
  
His heart beating, but keeping his cool, he found the door and opened it.  
  
It hit him. The scent. So elegant, warm, rich, classy . . . feminine. Refined, yet sexy. Alluring, yet with class. This boss had to be a woman. Then he didn't have to worry.  
  
Did he?  
  
"Sit down, Mr. Malfoy," said a cool, crisp voice, with an underlying tone to it that shocked him, deliciously. He sat. He would have trouble with her . . . he knew.  
  
"Why should I hire you?" asked the voice, abruptly, that came from the large chair backing him. He couldn't see the owner.  
  
'I'm creative, sensible, and willing to work. And I have educ-"  
  
"I know your education and achievements. But against you, you are arrogant, piggish, only willing to work because you need a few galleons. And most of all"-in saying this, the voice took on an ironic twist- "you hate Mudbloods." And she turned.  
  
In the chair was a woman as classy as her perfume, with her curly brown hair arranged into an elegant ponytail. Her eyes caught you, deep, liquid light brown eyes, with just a hint of makeup around them, the expression in them as cool as her personal assistant's. The face was beautiful, though in it was an almost wistful quality behind it somewhere, as if there was something left to be fulfilled. Even in her chic black suit, the woman looked like some kind of angel.  
  
It was Hermione Granger.  
  
His breath sucked in with a sharp draft of cold air, as they sat perfectly still staring at each other. He was remembering headlines Weasley gone missing day before marriage, is feared dead, with a large picture of Hermione crying, with Ginny and Harry in the background, Weasley is deemed dead, none can find him, Bride to be is heartbroken and other headlines, most with Hermione on the front. And here she was sitting right in front of him like if those things had never happened.  
  
"Have you lost your speech, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Hermione with a sardonic twist to her voice.  
  
He was unable to say anything, then managed, "No, madam, I have not," more out of habit than actual thought.  
  
"Because I have no use for workers that can talk and will not. I am not an easy employer. I demand strict, exact following of instructions. Precision, calmness, and a love for the work are required. I do not tolerate fools, nonsense and pathetic, sheepish excuses. Employees are expected to at least try to get along, and if not, then do not cause trouble. Yet I am fair, and kind, with praise given where it is due, and help where it is also due. My employees are happy. You Malfoy fit most of the bills. But any nonsense, any 'King of Slytherin' and you could be fired. Marketing Manager is important. See that you are always on time, with no shoddy excuses. When I call for you, you come. You're hired Mr. Malfoy. Be here tomorrow morning, at exactly eight preferably before. Dismissed."  
  
"Um, Madam, what am I to call you? And what do I wear?" surprised that this woman, though a little shorter than him, made him feel one inch tall.  
  
"You will call me Miss Granger, and eventually, you might end up calling me Hermione." Here she permitted a soft smile to grace her countenance. "Most do. Your current clothes are fine. I will discuss things with you tomorrow in depth. Good morning."  
  
He bid her good morning and left, his heart thudding. He was hired by a Mudblood that had a face like an angel, played like the devil, with a heart that had to be of a block of ice. He was really in for it. A woman of contrasts.  
  
This was not going to be easy.  
  
Hermione relaxed into her chair again, after being very tense. She was scared. Of Malfoy. For when she had seen him, a feeling of pure feminine pleasure had washed over her. And she had never felt that way. Not even with . . . well Ron. She shut her mind up about him, sent her memories back into their small little corner. He had grown up, matured, and a decent man, and a sensible employee. Think business. But she couldn't help seeing in her head his pale pointed face, with steely grey eyes, where she could read emotions easily, where hers didn't show. And his strength . . . he made her feel small.  
  
She buried her face in her hands after lighting her favourite vanilla candles, a headache- and a heartache- starting. Then she heard her name. Loud, clear, and angry.  
  
"HERMIONE GRANGER!!" A furious Hurricane Ginny suddenly blew herself into the office.  
  
It's a good thing this office is sound proofed, she thought. Only thing is, her head, already throbbing, wasn't.  
  
"YOU HIRED THAT FILTHY, STINKING BASTARD!!!! ARE YOU MAD!!" yelled Ginny, her eyes blazing.  
  
Hermione buried her face deeper in her hands. "No, I am not," she said, looking up.  
  
"Then why. Did. You. Hire him." Her voice was low and deadly.  
  
"He's the best qualified man applying."  
  
"He's bastard."  
  
"Ginny, give him a chance."  
  
"What if I do and he kills us all?"  
  
Then I'll be with Ron, she thought, but aloud she said "Then we'll be dead and won't care." Ginny sent her a smouldering look.  
  
"Look, Ginny, just give me a break. My head is starting to kill me, and I need to go downstairs and work a little as cashier, just for a change, okay? Any appointments, schedule for the day after, which is Wednesday."  
  
"I know the days of the week, Hermione," snapped Ginny. "I'll note that. Go downstairs."  
  
Hermione went downstairs, and found the cashier, Tanisha, working desperately to keep up with the line of customers queuing. At once, she was next to her, working her fingers off with her.  
  
"Where's Latoya? And Samuel?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Off," said Tanisha. "Dunno where they are, Hermione. And Ryan is sick leave." At this she looked sad. Ryan, a girl was one of her best friends.  
  
Hermione frowned. Then a tall, beefy man that resembled Harry's uncle, Vernon, said, "Watch it lady," referring to Hermione, "you shunt be talking. If you do, I'll report to your boss."  
  
Tanisha giggled as Hermione looked the man in the eye and said, "But I am the boss. And I have always permitted my cashiers to talk. Could you please step aside, you are blocking the other customers."  
  
"I don't believe you. I'll find the office and say you are impersonating!" said the man, who Hermione was sure was Dudley Dursley.  
  
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."  
  
Ten minutes later, he came down, looking very embarrassed, and walked out the shop without buying anything. Hermione and Tanisha started laughing, and with them, the customers, so everyone was happy.  
  
But later, as she was trying to sleep in her bed, she wondered if Ginny was right.  
  



	2. His First Day

His First Day  
  
I don't own Harry Potter or anything from Chanel, such as No.5 and Chance. And excuse me if all my things about jobs are wrong . . . I'm too young to work. 257  
  
He swore as he got up from his hard bed to head to Jewelry Exquisite. He had to get into the routine of heading over there, which meant getting up at seven o' clock, forcing down his little bit of breakfast, and dragging himself outside and to the jewelry store.  
  
He was not a morning person.  
  
So what. He would survive-he thought. Brunettes with icy cool eyes weren't easy at something to eight.  
  
Suddenly he was wide awake. He had a sexy little boss whose voice was silk wrapped steel, with eyes that were brown ice. And those cute brown tendrils were just . . . well, taken as it was she was an angel wearing Chanel. No. 5 to be exact.  
  
Damn.  
  
But by the time he had gotten in to Jewelry Exquisite, and inhaled the scent that managed to find itself under the door, he was good and truly awake. And after a frosty good morning from the sweet, kind Mrs. Potter, when he pushed open the door and saw the frost cool, brunette beauty of his boss, he was actually in somewhat of a good mood.  
  
"Good morning, Miss Granger."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy. I see that you are here on time. Well done." Such a brusque young lady. "Come. You have a busy day, and it is best to start with a tour of upstairs. Which of course includes your office."  
  
His office . . .  
  
When she opened the door and showed him the room, he was in awe. It was almost identical to her office. The only difference was the colouring. The floor's carpeting was just as soft and plush, and his feet sunk into the ground the same way they sank into hers. Deep green as it was, it set off the paler mint green walls. The desk, directly opposite from the door was off the finest mahogany. A computer, printer etc. fitted right into it. Despite his hatred of Muggles, he knew how to use their confusing articles. There were two office chairs in his room, and a beautiful aquarium. Only one person could have decorated this room with such understated plushness. Hermione Granger.  
  
Yet, somehow, it wasn't quite all polished. Maybe it was the old dark mahogany desk, but it had ruggedness underneath the polished exterior. Something that told you that Hermione Granger was human and not a perfect angel, with keep your distance eyes. The first sign that she was human . . .  
  
"It is well decorated, Miss Granger. Pray, tell me the name of the decorator."  
  
The way she looked at him, just wary enough, but with a strange half smile that lit up her face and made her look impish.  
  
"The decorator is myself," she said, with a slight bow. "It is good that you are pleased, and that you like it."  
  
He smiled at her, in return for that half elfish smile that had gone only half a minute ago. Her eyes flashed with a strange feeling, maybe pain, and maybe something else, but that wicked half elf smile appeared on her face again.  
  
She was teasing him. Ever so subtle, but she was teasing him.  
  
"Now. Before the other staff members arrive, I will show you the rest of the premises. Including the store room."  
  
So for the next five minutes, she showed him the area, showing him the sheer glory of the room. Then they moved to the store room. Hermione opened the door to the walk in safe with trembling fingers.  
  
Inside, the room was air conditioned, grey and quite cool. She stepped across to one of the shelves and unwrapped a small parcel, with her hands shaking still.  
  
In her hands was a fine ruby, glittering with an internal fire that looked like blood. She held out her hands, with the ruby glowing in it. He took it. It was warm, and pulsing.  
  
"It's about 10 carats, pigeon's blood, right?" he asked with a voice that could not quite conceal his shock.  
  
She nodded, then she asked, "How could you tell?"  
  
"I'm a Malfoy," he stated simply.  
  
Hermione nodded again. She understood.  
  
After that, she showed him some of the finest gems that back when he was a rich Malfoy he would have calmly handed over a five zeroed number for them. Some rare gems. The finest emeralds from Columbia, soft glowing pearls, Burmese rubies, star sapphires and black opals. So many more, so many more glittering shimmering stones so that the grey safe seemed to hold all colours of the rainbow. And the set pieces . . .  
  
"Now," she said, after he got over the sheer shock of the room, "the others should be arriving sometime soon, just about two minutes form now. We'll Apparate downstairs."  
  
"But Miss Granger, I am not sure of the way," he drawled.  
  
Her eyebrow raised precisely. Then she held out her hand. "Hold my hand," she said brusquely. Yet he could hear an underlying softness to it. An underlying darkness to it. He loved that soft note, ever so feminine. He stretched his hand out to hers, and then he caught hers. In her eyes, he saw the veil sweep back as he felt the electricity seem to jolt them, then pop they were downstairs.  
  
She let go of his hand as quick as she dared, but he could still feel her heart beating. Those few seconds had shocked both of them.  
  
But she was not one for discomposure. She had calmed herself and became as chemically mechanical as she could become. Then, all at once, several pops happened and about ten other people had appeared on the early morning. Each person had a different appearance on their face, and the one that struck him most was the extremely happy looking face of one young woman.  
  
"Good morning Hermione my love," remarked the extremely bouncy girl.  
  
Hermione smiled. "All well now Ryan?"  
  
"Yes darling," drawling the word. This girl had bright blue eyes and dark hair, and apparently her name was Ryan. Which was a girl's name? At once though the firefly of a girl was off, and was greeting a black girl. From the conversation, he gathered that this girl's name was Tanisha. He could tell that she was a little shy.  
  
Then Hermione called the whole group of them to order. "Ok, ok settle down everyone."  
  
She sounded like a teacher. How surprising.  
  
"This is our new marketing manager whose name is Draco Malfoy." There was silence as he could feel everyone staring at him and trying to decide exactly what kind of person he was and what he was doing. Then Ryan came up to him.  
  
"Hello," she said holding out her hand. "My name is Ryan, and this is my friend Tanisha." They nodded. Then he was introduced to a short man named Samuel, with who had to be his girlfriend, Latoya. Latoya was a Chinese looking girl, except that her skin was a little too dark, but surely he would find out about her later. These four seemed to be cashiers. Also, pretty good friends.  
  
He was introduced to the human resources person, a tall and slim girl, who gave the impression of frailty. She was one of those people who had to have a certain name, and she had the exact name that he thought, no, knew she would have. Her name was Laura, and she had ash blond hair. A compact looking young man was introduced as the accounts manager. He couldn't remember this man's name, since the man looked very antisocial. He met also two gem cutters, and two gem workers/ designers. The gem cutters were a twin, Mike, and M. J. At first glance, they appeared long and lanky. They had brown hair, brown eyes and long hands. Especially M.J. Very long for a lady whose name was probably Mary Jane(no offense to the name Mary Jane. This is Draco thinking)  
  
The gem workers/designers were two women who looked 30 something years old. One of these people had strange sullen eyes. The other had brown hair. Then of course, there was Virginia Potter (actually J.K.Rowling has let us know that her name is really and truly Ginevra) and Hermione Granger, and this was the complete amount of people who worked here. And if there was any security. Very interesting.  
  
And now him.  
  
It seemed to be a neat and well run area, as he watched what went on during the day. Ryan and Tanisha seemed excellent workers, and so were Sam and Latoya, even if they were a little bit slack.  
  
The frail looking Laura seemed to put up with a lot of things. Yet he could tell that she had a lot of influence with them all. Especially the accounts manager. Kevyn. Kevyn, Mike and M.J. were a happy group.  
  
Ginny Potter was a typical Weasley, very freckled still and happy. Still Malfoy hating. But that would take a while to change.  
  
But his thoughts always drew back to one lady.  
  
Hermione Granger. Her very bookishness seemed to have stopped, and a different woman seemed to have blossomed. She showed a different ness to what she had been, yet you knew that she was the same. Though back when they were in Hogwarts, he knew she could not have had the same poise and elegance that she displayed now, or those half elfin smiles that she had sent him and still sent him up to then.  
  
Oh, no. If she had, he had to have been more unobservant than the Weasel whom she had hung out with so much in Hogwarts days. He hadn't realized what she was like then, and her good qualities of intelligence and sensitivity had been surrounded by other things such as poise and elegance. Not to mention sexiness, but he didn't think that she did that on purpose.  
  
Lovely.  
  
So the day drew to a close.  
  
He had survived his first day at work, and he was fine. It would take him a while to get friendly with the others, like find out where they ate at lunch to socialize, and why exactly it was that Hermione did not go over there with them. It would have to be found out, because he was a Malfoy. So he had to know. And maybe on Saturday nights he would find time to go partying. Unless of course he were otherwise occupied.  
  
He could be.  
  
Even if she was a Mudblood, she still had a half elfin smile.  
  
Which was why when he told her good evening, he felt so warm.  
  
She gave him that little smile, the one that looked like it crept over her face by accident when he told her good evening.  
  
"Good evening Mr. Malfoy. Be here at the same time tomorrow morning."  
  
He nodded. "Very well. Miss Granger, Mrs. Potter, good evening."  
  
Then he strolled out. It was wonderful to be able to go back to a job. In two weeks time he would have his salary, and that was something to look forward to. The day seemed very positive.  
  
Darn.  
  
Even if it looked like it was going to rain.  
  
That wasn't really that bad, was it?  
  
(((((())))))  
  
I'm back home, and this is going to be updated fairly fast, since I made a few chapters for it already . I just have to type them. Click the review button to give me encouragement. 


	3. Coffee in Le Cafe

Coffee  
  
Disclaimer: You know.  
  
After the first two days that he was there, she was surprised how well he fitted into her little business. As sweet and charming as he ever could be, yet sometimes dangerous, he fitted in perfectly. Yet you always felt like he didn't fit in. And he didn't- though she hired him, she didn't accept him. Neither she nor Ginny. Really, if looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would have died under the furious glances of Mrs. Potter. Sometimes hers too. A look, she knew, was hard to get you into jail.  
  
Until the day of the coffee shop.  
  
It was raining cats and dogs that lunchtime. She wasn't really happy, since she didn't like when it rained cats and dogs. Light, soft and misty rain was better suited to her tastes. But it was raining cats and dogs, so when her one o' clock lunch came, she ditched her paperwork that she had been checking, and pushed in her computer desk-she was looking for gems to bring in with the arrival of summer, two months from now.  
  
She pushed in her computer desk and took up her umbrella, and got herself across without getting too wet. Just a little bit. Her shoes were wet, but that was all.  
  
She pushed open the wet glass door of Le Café, looking longingly in through the large windows at the crazy little shop. Inside smelled like all blends of coffee, which she liked. Such a sweet aroma, with gorgeous hints of fruit tea. The smell surrounded her and she paused for a second just to inhale that scent. Then she took in the shop.  
  
The little shop was white, with lots of coffee cup stencils all over the walls, and pictures of famous landmarks as well, such as the Eiffel Tower, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The tables were small and circular, each with a small tea light on them. The woman at the counter nodded at her and without asking gave her a cup of black coffee, steaming hot in a little white mug, and a couple of delicious looking sandwiches. She smiled gratefully, paid her and found her way across to the little table in the corner of the shop that always hid her completely, since there was a little glass shelf that hid her from most people's sight. That was what she wanted.  
  
From what she could see the usual crowd was there, people who worked all around, and a couple of her own staff members on lunch break. Laura was sitting with Kevyn again, laughing at own of his jokes. Laura was the woman that made Kevyn react. She was one of the people that got along with everyone. She sipped her coffee and sat back, her eyes half closed and half asleep, knowing that in about an hour her lunch break was over. But why shouldn't she enjoy it . . .?  
  
Then, all of a sudden, she heard in the midst of the bustling around her a voice.  
  
"Miss Granger, may I sit here?"  
  
She sat bolt upright, from her relaxed position and flicked her eyes open. Of course, she knew it was Malfoy. Of course he knew he had startled her. And darn him, how did he find this corner?  
  
"Of course," was what she said  
  
"The lady at the front told me that everywhere was full, then she said that there was just one more spot. You mind?" he asked as he sat down in the seat opposite her with his own coffee. The sudden appearance of coffee reminded her that she hadn't had any of her own coffee. Not much anyway.  
  
She had some.  
  
"So how on earth did you guess . . . well, where the spot was?" she asked.  
  
He chuckled. "Easy. Spotted your hands on the glass wall, I'll guess that you were stretching?"  
  
She blinked and nodded, after having some more of her own very hot black coffee.  
  
"This is a nice place to go, especially if you are soaking wet. Dries you out nicely."  
  
She noticed for the first time that the man opposite her had soaking wet hair, and that he was drenched from head to toe. "Rain hasn't cleared up?"  
  
"No, Miss Granger. It has not, and I . . ." he shrugged, and she saw him swallow pride, "don't have an umbrella. Or a raincoat. Or anything, actually." He smiled rather wickedly, then said, "I'm sorry if I'm dripping on your Louis Vuitton shoes."  
  
She smiled. "They're not Louis Vuitton. They're Chanel."  
  
He shrugged. "I stand corrected." He drawled the words.  
  
It seemed that he was in a more talkative mood than usual, even if he was still the same arrogant Malfoy. You could see it in his every move, and in his stillness, you could see that Malfoy ness bred into him. He lay there occasionally tasting his black coffee, and then he asked her.  
  
"How often do you come in here and hide Miss Granger?"  
  
Her eyes narrowed, mere narrowing and said "What do you mean 'hide'? I am not hiding." Yet she was . . .she was always hiding . . .from the world, so that they could not see her. She spoke so much lies.  
  
"Yes, you are Hermione. I can see that you're lying, though I must say that you are a good liar." His eyes laughed as she sat bolt upright.  
  
"I am not a liar, and certainly not a good one."  
  
He smiled, and then he told her sweetly, "If you say so . . .Hermione."  
  
She rolled her eyes and let it go. He wasn't worth it . . .though he was the best person she had ever come up against in an intellectual argument. Or half thereof.  
  
She had more coffee.  
  
So did he.  
  
"I have a question," she said with her eyebrows raised.  
  
"Fire away," he said moodily.  
  
"Why on earth don't you buy yourself an umbrella or at least a hat?"  
  
His smile was dangerous as he told her, "I have to eat you know, Miss Granger. Do you have a problem with that?"  
  
"No, not at all. But wouldn't it be better for you not to get wet, so that you don't have to spend money on medicine?"  
  
He stared at her, then she saw him break his face into a reluctant smile. "True."  
  
Almost in that second, she felt barriers break down, and knew that she could talk to him. That he would listen to her. Almost as if she could tell that she had been accepted.  
  
"Miss Granger, just out of curiosity? What is supposed to happen in summer? "  
  
She smiled, and then she launched into a plan that she told him about what she planned to do, which was to bring in gorgeous jewels and beads and things to take on vacation the next month, but still it seemed that it might be impossible. She forgot that it was raining, she forgot that she hated the man, she forgot all about the fact that lunchtime was nearly done, and just told him about what she wanted.  
  
If only she could see herself, marveled Malfoy. Her brown hair that had matured from bushy madness to soft and elegant waves and curls fell from its neat ponytail to fly in her face and she brushed it back with her hands that looked so long and lean. She was smiling, and her eyes sparkled as she portrayed her excitement-dark brown eyes that he hardly ever saw smile. She was so happy and it showed. And she described things to him, told him exactly how she meant and how it could be done. She countered his quarrels.  
  
"Well, you will have to meet me later on in the week, maybe next week Monday if you want me to show you and explain it completely, this is just a coffee shop, and I don't have much time."  
  
She was like the Hogwarts Hermione, just prettier, older and a little changed. She had to bear so much, even from Hogwarts. She was a survivor.  
  
But not right now.  
  
She had lost all the tension, the walls, and was talking to him like if she knew him as a friend all her life. He argued with her, watched her roll her eyes and throw up her hands expressively. Her eyes sparkled as she told him of gorgeous gems that she had seen, and asked him whether or not she thought that she should bring in an opal that was supposedly cursed.  
  
"Well, some people might find it interesting," he told her, "but really, wouldn't it curse the shop?"  
  
"But we once brought in a ruby, ages old that had a curse written on it . . . though we sold it pretty fast. Nothing happened."  
  
"That was a ruby. Opals traditionally are bad luck, and you know that too."  
  
She rolled her eyes. Malfoy had a point. "True, but should I bother, then with a gorgeous set of coral?"  
  
"Why of course, coral is great and you know that, you should try that . . . but what about the beads? Lots of little beaded necklaces and rings . . . those are pretty cheap and sell very well . . ."  
  
At once they went back to talking, and talked for half an hour undisturbed when Hermione heard another unexpected voice.  
  
"Hermione? Hermione? Where are you, there is something I was to ask you . . ."  
  
Ginny.  
  
Draco Malfoy looked at her with a half a smirk on her face. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, and Ginny was the rock. She would stay.  
  
"Hermione Granger."  
  
Ginny was well known for looks of murderous proportions, even as Hermione deliberately sipped her coffee. Her neglected coffee.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy. I was looking for Miss Granger, do you mind?" casting Malfoy a filthy look.  
  
He bowed as he stood. "Of course not." He drew himself up, and looked at Ginny. Hermione could even hear his thought, "Filthy Weaslette," in her head.  
  
His outward question was, "Is it still raining?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He left.  
  
She saw the curtain and cloud that had vanished return in that one look.  
  
"Well, Hermione."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why were you sitting here with Draco Malfoy? In this corner?"  
  
"I always eat here. He just joined me because there was nowhere else for him to sit."  
  
"And you let him?" hissed Ginny.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Ginny said nothing, just looked at Hermione with one of her most filthy looks.  
  
Hermione had the rest of her coffee.  
  
&&&&&&&&&  
  
Later that day, that night as Hermione put on her nightshirt, the big grey one that had the lettering "The Boss" on it, she realized something. She could never be herself. She wanted so badly to do some things. She wanted to do what she wanted. Always as a child, she always did what she was told to. There was a standard. Perfection. Perfection. But she wanted to try some thing else. She would love to go to a night club. To wear a short and skimpy skirt, and a teeny tiny top. But every Friday night that she would go, Ginny always asked her to do something. Maybe on purpose. But she hated it.  
  
And now Draco Malfoy had turned back up.  
  
Everything had changed again, and now, she was back to risk taking.  
  
There was still hope to get to a nightclub, she thought, as she curled up and went to sleep in her bed. Maybe with Malfoy.  
&&&&  
  
Well . . .Shayl, chapters good enough for you yet? I know, I really do owe you don't I? 


	4. The Meeting after Work

The Meeting after Work

Disclaimer: Insert your own. I own nothing.

Hermione Granger was not in a good mood the Monday that she was supposed to meet with her employee Draco Malfoy. One reason was that she was worried about Ginny's reaction. Another was that she felt slightly guilty. The most important reason was that she just felt a little bit grumpy, probably a combination of all the above. Of course there was the fact that she had been scared. By the way she had been in the coffee shop. More herself than she had been in years.

But none of this showed in the calm, cool composure that she presented to the world. She looked quite in control of herself. Anyone would have seen a brunette in a cinnamon brown suit with cool, keep your distance eyes. And class. She radiated it, and she knew that.

And apparently that was what Ginny saw, since Ginny didn't ask what was wrong with her. Maybe she didn't want to see.

Secure in the retreat of her office, she lit a cinnamon candle, and let the spicy scent calm her down as she started the boring paperwork of the day. The dull paper work. She hated the paperwork, really she did. But it had to be done, and soon she was immersed in confusing calculations about something or the other. She intended to finish them by the time lunch came around. Maybe, with luck before that.

Damn.

She was actually managing without any interruptions whatsoever when she heard a knock on her door. She scrambled to put on her shoes. When those were back on, she called.

"Come in."

It was Malfoy. She did not have to look up to tell.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I am to meet you this evening, at three o clock?"

"Four."

'Very well."

He was gone. Though unfortunately he wasn't quite. The lingering smell of his cologne cut through the faint scent of her cinnamon candle, and was not very conducive to paperwork. It was far too male. Far too attractive. Far too Malfoy. She really was sick of herself sometimes. She had no right, thinking like this. Really none whatsoever.

Damn men. Damn Malfoy in particular.

She bent back to the paperwork, trying not to think about Malfoy. It was difficult.

After a while of opaque thinking, she finally was able to get the work that she needed done. She was pleased, and made herself a cup of tea instead of going to Le Café, since, she would still have to do more work. Just of a more interesting kind. She had to check on the Net, and make a few phone calls to see what was available to buy for summer. Her current stock would last her, then she would have to bring in stuff. Not that she minded since she was planning to anyway. A nice sale would be good.

She sipped her apple cinnamon tea, and connected to the Net and looked for watches. She kicked off her shoes, and drew up one of her feet, sipping her coffee and nibbling on her crunchy biscuits in between. She wondered if she could afford to bring in Cartier. That would be so much money, yet still . . .it could be worth it. Maybe wintertime.

She continued looking while flicking through a magazine, looking at the watches out, Also, she checked out the fashion predictions for summer, knowing very well that April wasn't too early to look for June. In between she was scribbling in her little black notepad. The one that wasn't quite business.

Before she knew it, Malfoy was knocking on her door. To her surprise it was four o clock.

"Come in," she said after hastily retrieving her shoes.

Draco Malfoy came in, and even as she told him to, sat.

His first question had nothing to do with business.

"Miss Granger, are you alright? Mrs. Potter seems fit to burst, and she wants to know where you are, and if you're alive."

Hermione allowed an unwilling smile to cross her face. "I'll go and calm her down."

She got up and found Ginny. "Hermione. You're alright."

"Of course I'm fine, Ginny."

"It's just that you hadn't come out since well, never, and I was wondering. What does Malfoy want?"

Hermione told her.

Ginny's eyes grew narrower and narrower. "Fine. When you're finished, then, I want a word." Hermione nodded.

Then returned to the cool Malfoy. Caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Well. The reason why you're here is because I need to discuss with you the plans for the summer stock. In other words, what exactly to be brought in for the summer."

"Fire away," he said, apparently uninterested. But she had caught the spark of interest in his fathomless grey eyes.

She carefully explained to him her plan. She told him of available gemstones, and excellent gold that could be fashioned into individual pieces. She also told him of the service that involved bringing your own stones, and they would create a piece for you. She explained about high class watches, and exactly what she wanted.

He nodded, pointing out things, and making suggestions where necessary.

She smiled at him, not the half smirks that crossed her face, or the elf smiles that she hated, but a genuine smile that showed how happy she was to get this done.

"But, amid all of this, there still has to be little lighthearted stuff like beaded rings, feathered necklaces, and funky watches. The thing is- how to display all of this in the shop windows?"

"Why the light hearted stuff?"

"It's the summer fashion prediction. Plus children like them."

"Oh." He appeared deep in thought.

"There are three large windows, correct?" he asked her, his eyes half shut, and his hair swinging over his shoulders.

"Correct," she said her voice icy again. She was irritated with herself for thinking that he looked dangerously sexy. He appeared to care not half a wit, though she could see him laughing at her from behind his cold grey eyes.

"Well, divide it into three sections. A piece of paper, please Miss Granger, and a pencil."

She handed them to him.

His hands flew over the paper, adding notes. Quickly, effortlessly.She was fascinated, watching his long fingered hands move so fast. Then he handed it back to her.

It was perfect. A free hand sketch of the beach, with real sand showed the little crazy beaded things, and big chunky watches. And in between were scattered loose gems. The sun was shining brightly, according to the notes. The next window had a sketch of the jungle, with feathery things scattered around like birds. Rich gems added sparkles in unexpected places, and she saw a silver bracelet draped like a snake. Midday.

The last window was done in two parts. One half held the classy side of nightlife, with draped diamonds, gold and silver elegantly done. The other side looked wild. Crazy partying nightclubs had funky gems, looking wild.

She looked up and met his eyes.

"It's perfect," she breathed.

He explained fully. "The early morning beach scene shows fun and frivolous stuff for the child in you. Then the jungle noon. The classy nightlife, with cocktails and balls is swanky. But then of course, the crazy nightclubs. The wild side of life. Sexy n' sultry."

It wasn't the words. They were innocent words enough. It was the way he said them. She couldn't help it. She blushed slightly pink. He smiled lazily at her, knowing full well what he'd done.

Really. The nerve of the man.

"Well, that settles so much," she said, recovering her speech and staring dead into his eyes. She kept hers as cold and impersonal as she could. "I will probably have to meet with you later, as well as your colleagues to discuss what is going to happen."

He stood and nodded.

"Dismissed," she said as imperiously as he used to at Hogwarts. The Mudblood days. "Good evening."

"Good evening."

She sat there a little after he left, still in surprise, still breathing as hard as if she'd ran a race. She had to calm down. She had blushed. The mask that she had worn for years was cracking now. All because of one Malfoy. True, he was sexy, but then he was a bastard.

He was dangerous.

Then she took up her little black note book, the one that wasn't quite business.The one where her sketches were not always gemstones, but sometimes dreams, and wishes. And she blinked in horror.

One of the pages was missing.

And it was a page. That could not afford to be lost.

**_Malfoy_**. 

She let the shock sink in, then turned her mind to business. It would have to wait, since she was to talk to Ginny now.

She got up out of her office, discarding her shoes, and padded across to the desk that Ginny sat at, still finishing off something.

"Yes Gin? Do I have a forgotten appointment?"

Ginny looked up and Hermione knew it wasn't that. Her friend's eyes were sparkling, and she looked happy, thrilled, yet in a way in awe.

"Well, I've got to tell somebody. It's great, wonderfully great!" Her previous anger at Hermione had gone.

'What?"

"Mione, I'm pregnant!"

Hermione let this sink in, and then she grabbed Ginny a huge hug. This was wonderful news. "When did you find out?" she squealed.

"Just now. I was wondering, so I did a pregnancy test, then went to the hospital and got a professional one done! I'll find out boy or girl later. Maybe it's even a twin!"

"A _twin_?" Hermione stood dumbstruck.

Ginny nodded. "They run in my family."

"Well, come on. We can't keep this to ourselves, Ryan'll want to know-but be prepared to answer all the detailed questions. Ahem. About the conceiving. " Hermione told Ginny briskly. Her upset had vanished, and she was totally happy for her friend.

They went downstairs, found the other girls, and soon they were all in a fit of squealing, congratulations and a lot of crying around Ginny.

She was utterly happy.

But when she got home late, lying in her bed too exhausted to sleep after celebrating with Ginny and her family, she realized that she was, in a tiny way, jealous. She wanted children, but there was no hope left for her. A single woman.

Except now, her enemy had turned up. And there was no denying it, she was fascinated by him. Even if the sick bastard had stolen a page from her private notebook. Nothing majorly embarrassing. But that didn't mean a thing-it was just a fascination.

The old wound opened in her heart again. After seeing Ginny and her family, most of whom had survived the war, except for Mr. Weasley and Percy, she felt said. Ron should have been there too, goggling at Harry and exploding at his little sister. He should have been there to laugh at her, to hug. In fact, she should have been lulling a child. Maybe a baby girl, with big brown eyes and freckles, with red hair.

The tear fell again, hidden in the darkness, hurting.

Noone could see her, no one knew.

She missed Ron . . . why had he never come home? Slowly, slowly, she accepted the inevitable. He had to have died. He would never have left her like this. Widowed before she was married.

Long after she fell asleep the images haunted her, torturing her. For Hermione Granger bore things without help. No one, would ever know.

!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well . . . please review.


	5. Nous Allons a la France

Nous Allons a la France

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Draco Malfoy laughed to himself as he admired the tiny sketch taken from Granger's sketchbook, which was not quite shut. And he quickly discovered Hermione Granger was not quite the innocent perfect angel, nor the classy, icy employer that she pretended to be.

Hermione had another side that was struggling to be asserted. As the sketch showed that he had stolen.

It wasn't that the sketch was exquisitely drawn. All her drawings were. No.

It was the fact that it was a drawing of Hermione in a tiny miniskirt, and an equally skimpy top with razor sharp, skyscraper high heels. Maybe it was just the drawing, but he'd never realized how long her legs were. This made even walking home and a sandwich for dinner a lot better.

&&&&&&&&&

However, he was more sober the next day. This had been a dangerous risk. He would find out.

He found out indeed.

When he stopped by her office to check in, she looked up at him.

"One moment Draco."

He felt surprised- she had never used his first name, and said by her it sounded much nicer. This implied that she had something very important to talk about, and he had absolutely no idea what she wanted. Or did he . . .? He was nearly as nervous as he had been the day that she had hired him.

"I believe that you have something belonging to me."

He played it cool. "And . . .?"

"Don't be innocent. It doesn't suit you. All I am asking you is to keep that sketch out of sight, and your mouth shut." Something about the way she was looking at him told him that she was desperate.

"You are realizing that I have a perfect chance for blackmail?" he said, coolly.

The corners of her mouth curved up in a half smile. Apparently she took no offense. "You are realizing that you are treading the fine line between staying and getting fired?"

He didn't take offense either, but he laughed outright. The woman was playing as dirty as he did. "I withdraw the question."

Her smile became a full smile. "I accept that. Now, don't you have work to do?"

"Naturally." He nodded good bye to her and retreated to the comfortable security of his plush office, safe from the furies of Mrs. Potter. Unfortunately, not of the sheer élan of Miss Granger. Everything in that office showed her.

He tried to ignore all that and started his work. Unfortunately it wasn't that easy to do. Even all the elusive scents that he had come to associate with her were in his room . . . cinnamon, vanilla, Chanel . . .

Damn.

So just to distract himself, he began to inspect various pieces of jewelry, and frowned. The best places for these were in France, that was what he found. And so it was not easy to access them. He wrote on his pale green and silver memo, and sent it straight to Hermione.

To his shock she appeared in his office three seconds later.

"Yes, Draco, I had noticed." She sat down in the other office chair in his room. "It is rather annoying unless . . ." she trailed off.

He however knew what she was thinking of. "Unless we go to France."

She looked up at him, startled. "How did you know?"

He smiled at her, the lazy smile that he liked to tease her with, either to watch her blush, or to see her respond with the elfin smiles that tilted the corners of her mouth. She didn't disappoint him as she smiled as he told her, "My dear Hermione, it was obvious."

"And if I dare make a suggestion?" he told her, brushing his hair from his eyes and watching her eyes grow icy as she became furious with herself. He knew he was teasing her. But he liked it.

"You may dare." She whispered it.

"Chose a villa not a hotel."

"Thank you." She got up to leave.

He got up too, and said, "I appreciate you listening to me."

Her eyes turned up into his. "Doesn't anyone?" Her eyes seemed slightly shadowed, yet he could see emotion there. He didn't know which emotion.

He looked at her, feeling murderous. Of course not, angel, he whispered. No one does. "Naturally not, angel," he said, drawling coldly. "Who would listen to a Malfoy?"

"I would," she whispered. She looked surprised at her self.

He felt somehow gratified, with her. No one ever would. But he wouldn't let her see. "Honey, you're one of a kind."

&&&&&&&&&&

Often, in the next few days, when he dropped by her office, she was looking up something on the Internet. Generally it was villas, and then she looked with a slight frown between her brows that he longed to smooth away . . . then he cursed himself in as many languages as he knew. Sometimes she was listening to music, and doing a quick check he recognized Billy Joel's _Modern Woman_. With a smile he had laughed and passed down the corridor to Kevyn. The description suited Hermione to a tee.

But once he caught her looking non-business stuff. In fact a tiny, leather, black miniskirt. Quietly he chuckled, pretending that he hadn't seen.

"Well?" he asked her. He purposely made it seem somewhat ambiguous.

"Well what?" She looked guarded, wary . . . watching her tongue.

"Are we going?"

"Where?"

"Don't be innocent Hermione, it doesn't suit you. Are we going to France?"

He saw her sigh relief, and she said "Well, maybe we are going . . . maybe not. It all depends on if I can afford to send us, if I can find a villa . . . I'm just getting stressed."

"Take a break," he told her.

"Right. I would if could, but I can't."

"Okay. I'm going and gone."

He was. He pondered as he reentered his office. Miss Granger was as usual trying to be superwoman. And that was not good. He laughed at himself. He really should not care. What was a little Mudblood to him? She was his boss. Sexy, it was true, and she listened to him, but push come to shove, and she would just get rid of him. Like who cared about him? He was a Malfoy. To them, he would always be a filthy bastard.

He smiled, slowly, deliberately, and evilly.

Perhaps that was best. In fact, it was simply charming.

&&&&&&&&&&

Considering everything, he wasn't really surprised when he heard Hermione call the meeting. Not at all, since she called them meeting, and told them what she had planned. At she didn't waste her words either.

She told them short, plain and simple.

"We're going to France on Saturday for two weeks. The accommodation is set up and paid for. All you have to pay for is your own transportation. Bring personal spending money, and pack lightly-we'll be hitting Paris sometime. You may bring one person with you."

Stunned silence followed this.

Then Ryan said, "But um, Hermione, today is Thursday."

"I had noticed," said Hermione dryly.

"Hermione? _France_?" squeaked Ginny.

"On what?" asked somebody.

"The train."

Draco laughed to himself as he watched the stunned expressions of everyone else.

"But why?" asked Kevyn.

Hermione explained. "In la belle France, there are available gemstones, and plus, it would be an attraction to put pictures in the store for summer, like we did last winter. Also, we will need a vacation, before summer starts. If you don't wish to come, you don't have to. Who's game?"

They all exchanged glances. Then, with one voice, they said "ME!"

Hermione smiled dryly. "I figured that would be the case. Now, to arrange . . ."

As soon as she let them out, they ran towards the door like school children running home for the holidays, instead of grown adults. Hermione watched them and laughed. She seemed unaware of his presence, that is, until she called him.

He looked up, surprised. What did she want with him?

"Now, I do know that you are unable to pay for transportation. Therefore I am paying for you, and taking a certain amount of your salary to repay me. Is this suitable for you?"

He nodded as coolly as he could. He resisted the mad urge to run straight to her and sweep her off the ground in complete shock and happiness. Then he smiled at his own stupidity.

"Thank you Miss Granger."

"Now off with you. Go pack."

He was about to leave when suddenly she called him.

"Yes, Hermione?" was his question.

"Kindly behave yourself on this trip Draco," she said, returning the courtesy of the first name, "I might know that you will, but Mr. H. Potter doesn't."

He felt a sudden cold fury run through his body. Potter. Who hated him. And to do him justice he had hated him in before. But really that was rather insignificant to him now, But to think that he would still hate him, still loathe him.

Well, a poisonous mushroom can't change its spots. He wondered if he was talking about himself or Potter.

He left.

And as he was at home packing into a small suitcase that he still had-that was what you called packing lightly-he suddenly dropped his shirt. An idea came to him. Wicked you could call it. But it would grate on Mr. and Mrs. Potter's pair of nerves, please him . . . and he had no idea what it would to Hermione. She might like it.

Such was his subtlety.

He smiled again, looking slightly diabolic. It wasn't evil a plan. It just made him look so.

&&&&&&&&&

For Ryan, Friday was a strange, rather fairytale day. Everyone had a touch of real magic, not the useful thing, but a sort of lovely fairytale things. As they all bustled, her running here and there, she reminded herself of a firefly. They were busily shutting up a shop, locking safes. She picked up things, but in between, she watched them all. Tanisha her friend was a rather quiet, dreamy dryad. Laura floated. Somehow, she floated, managing to look serene among the rushing people. Maybe she was part elf, part faery. A princess. Kevyn, following her was a goblin bodyguard. Sam was a sultan, somehow, and Latoya was an exotic court dancer, a member of his harem. Mike and M.J., that staid and sensible twin just seemed like the brown old women of the earth, good witches with magic of gems in their fingertips. She shivered.

The sunshine streamed in one Ginny, one advisor to the queen. And of course the queen herself, Her Majesty Hermione, with her hair all in disarray, and her cold, closed face verging on the stressed bothered and upset. Sometimes, her fantasy let play, and though she knew the true story she often pretended that Hermione was under a spell. One that prevented emotion.

But what of Draco? For despite Ginny's croaking, he was a nice human being, who though he was somewhat threatening at times was not at all planning to kill them all. What of him?

She watched him, and noted, how, when he arched one eyebrow at Hermione how she responded with a smile—a slow, lazy smile that just curved the corners of her mouth. And she knew how he teased her. Watching them out of the corner of her eye while taking something downstairs, she saw Hermione blush ever so faintly, dismissing Draco with a queenly gesture. But it didn't faze him. In fact he only smiled, and catching the sight of his face as he turned she nearly dropped what she was holding as that smug smirk held his face. It was a look that told her that he was up to something—not bad, but something that would make a lot of people uncomfortable.

And then, she _saw_.

Ryan had the gift of seeing, given to her from her Irish ancestors. In those seconds her eyes suddenly pulled away mists of time, and then she laughed, a full blown roguish laugh, and she said out loud, in the broad Irish accent

"Well, no doubt there'll be a mighty fuss, but after all . . ."

She chuckled to herself as she changed herself to a veiled fortune teller, and Draco was at once a prince—a dark dangerous prince, come to woo Hermione from a distant land. A prince who came from places people thought Hermione had never been, or never would go. And Hermione was a prisoner, a queen but a prisoner who wanted to break free. She wanted to live for herself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As he reflected on the day, Malfoy worried, or wondered about just one thing,. Why had Ryan looked at him like that? Not any hope of flirting, but a rather strange and eerie look as if she knew something he didn't know, and as she turned away he heard a rogue laugh and he knew that Ryan was Irish.

It was, when all was said and done, rather strange. But this trip to France turned everything topsy-turvy and it would get even more so.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Laugh ask away if you want to, but you'll get answers in due course. Shayl, your review is the word France unless you have anything else to say.


	6. Summer Days

Summer Days

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, oh, and the place in France is made up. So don't ask for directions.

Hermione had not been so relaxed in so long. Despite the fact that it was not summer yet, the sun poured down, and the air shimmered in the heat, the heat of the Mediterranean. Their villa next to the sea was huge, and the fact that the sea was a constant background noise made her happy.

After the first couple of days, they had all settled down. Harry and Ginny were staying together. Calmly, she had assigned Latoya and Sam to a room, causing Latoya to turn furiously red. M.J. and Mike roomed together. Laura, she gave a room for herself. She was staying with Ryan and Tanisha. They had begged her to stay with them. As for Kevyn, he stayed with Draco. The only males working there.

Draco. Whereas all the others had tiptoed around the house with its fine furniture, he seemed not in the least bit perturbed. He didn't go out of his way to handle anything carefully. But she could see that he held everything with an unconscious care.

Even if he was a bastard, if he was a Malfoy, a Mudblood hater, you had to admit it. He had class.

Harry didn't agree.

The two watched each other with an almost indescribable hostility. But three days had passed without fuss. And the beach—it was heavenly, despite their quarrels.

Stretching out of her bed, breakfast already eaten, she changed into her swimsuit, one whole piece, reddish brown—best described as copper. Picking up her matching coloured sarong wrap, pulling it around her hips, and picking up her bag, she stepped outside.

It was a lazy sort of day, the sun pouring down and the sea glittering. Already she could see Ryan and Tanisha, throwing up water. The others were arrayed on the beach as well. Laura was sitting under a sunshade, being teased by Kevyn. Laughing, she spotted a free area. Spreading out her towel, putting on her sunscreen, she put everything on her towel, then discarded the wrap, and ran

Straight into the water. Swimming out to Ryan and Tanisha, she forgot herself and had a great deal of fun and laughter.

It was an hour later when Hermione went out of the water to join the sunbathing workers. Her skin she had drenched in sunscreen and her sunglasses were on. She was enjoying herself, finding a good book in her bag. Stretching herself full length on her towel, enjoying the sand tickling her feet was her idea of content.

She lay undisturbed for a while.

Then she noticed the sand seemed more ticklish. In fact—

She looked at her feet to see Malfoy, lazily lying full length tickling her with a piece of grass. His hair pulled back, he laughed at her. Sitting straight up, her book forgotten, trying to decide if she was angry or amused, she raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I should think you have better things to do," she said frostily.

He laughed again. "No, not really. Not if you leave your feet out for tickling."

"You are a relentless tease."

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "My dear Hermione, you are wonderful for teasing."

This time she tucked her feet up underneath her. Then she stared at him, still lying on the ground. Staring at the sky.

Then she realized she hadn't seen him in swimming trunks before. He had been at the beach at different times from her. And she couldn't stop her eyes tracing his body. Muscles, muscles, more muscles, and his face—here she stopped. Lounging on the sun drenched beach, he looked exactly like a large cat, maybe a jaguar. No, a golden, tawny lion.

Damn him, he was sexy.

Trying very hard to ignore the fact that she had just been staring at Draco Malfoy, she stretched out with her eyes closed. The sun felt wonderful to her slightly damp skin. The breeze was blowing off the sea. She felt relaxed, contented and rather drowsy. Just lying there with the breeze blowing, and her eyes half open.

Draco, lying on the sand, at Hermione's feet was wondering if she knew how damn distracting she was in that swimsuit. Simple, clean cut lines, with her back out, it suited her perfectly. The colour lent the warmth to Hermione's skin, and it was not revealing . . . nor did it fail to show off every curve in her body. Every curve. Sleek, slender, and with incredibly long legs, he wondered if she had looked like this in the Hogwarts days. If she had, he was an unobservant idiot.

Then again, she probably would not have worn this.

Pity. Lying there, he knew that if Ginny or Harry spotted him now, there was going to be a fuss . . . exactly as he had planned. Meanwhile, he wondered how much fun it would be to kiss all the way up her neck, just to see what she would do.

Looking up, he suddenly noticed Ginny and Harry sitting next to each other. Lucky them, Ginny was pregnant. He sighed. More Weasley/Potters to be brought into the world with a growing hatred of him. Lovely.

There were times when he wondered why he wasted his time. Being a decent person. But . . .

Hermione suddenly was roused from her dream like state when she heard a loud ahem from somewhere near her head.

She sat bolt upright, without knowing why. Standing, looking very disapproving was Harry.

Her heart suddenly began pounding faster, out of nerves. Her expression, cool, calm controlled, was hiding an out of control feeling. Alarm bells were clanging in her head.

Get ready for fireworks while strapped on to the front of a roller coaster.

Glancing at Malfoy, she noticed that he had his chin propped up on his hand, and was looking bored. Blankly, deliberately bored.

"Hermione?" he looked upset. Then he stared at Malfoy, who calmly stared right back at him.

"Move, Malfoy," said Harry. Or rather snarled.

With surprising agility, he was up on his feet. Now standing at his full height, he was taller than Harry, but not by much. The lazy peaceful air suddenly began to crackle with tension.

Harry caught hold of Hermione's arm, and drew her out of earshot of Malfoy. Then he blew up at her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Hermione? Since when are we friendly with Malfoy?! Answer!"

Hermione suddenly felt a surge of inexplicable anger towards Harry. She was no stupid child.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy was doing nothing whatsoever. The most he was doing was sitting, or lying, I really do not know which. And neither do I care." Her voice was her coolest, don't-carish, and most final.

Harry looked at her, furious. Then he stormed back to where Malfoy was standing, arms crossed, looking so distant that she hardly recognized him. Also dangerous. His eyes, which she had thought were grey, were black . . . or so she thought at the time.

"Malfoy, I have a couple of words of warning for you," snarled Harry.

"Fire away," drawled Malfoy.

Harry's voice was low, tense, and furious. "Stay away from us, Ginny, and Hermione. I don't know why she hired you, but stay away from her, or else you'll pay."

He shrugged. "Miss Granger here hired me because I was _qualified_," his drawl pronounced and cold, "and as for me let's say,_ harassing,_ your friend, I think that she can take care of herself. She was the cleverest witch of our year and helped defeat the Dark Lord."

Harry looked even more furious.

"And as for your wife," the typical sneer was back on his face, "I wouldn't dream of teasing _her_. That's a waste of precious time."

With this, he Apparated, somehow leaving his sneer behind.

Harry looked at Hermione and stormed off to Ginny.

Hermione sat back on her towel. Though Malfoy was a cold blooded bastard, she trusted him. It was as if Harry was questioning her judgment. And what had he been doing? Lying by her feet, not even tickling her anymore. She was appreciative of her friends sticking up for her, but at times it went a little too far. She was a grown woman, and could take care of herself.

Next to her she felt Ryan sit down, and on the other side Tanisha. Ryan was wearing a whole piece swimsuit, too, black, and Tanisha was wearing a red bikini.

"Wow, what was that about?" asked Ryan.

"That was about Malfoy."

"Let me guess: Harry thinks Malfoy shouldn't come within a two metre radius of you."

"Precisely."

They all got up, in unison, and headed back to the villa, and their room. It was about three o' clock. After they rinsed off, dried their hair, and changed, the rest of the evening was theirs.

Somehow, it was amazing how she could not find either Malfoy or Harry, or Ginny. The later could probably explained since she could tell there was a silencing charm on their room. But as for Malfoy . . .

She wanted to apologize. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry about the way Harry had behaved. But in her heart of hearts, on some subconscious level, she really just wanted to see him, to tease him, to annoy him. He was one person, apart from a few people at work who did not judge her.

But it seemed that Malfoy could not be found if he didn't want to be.

Hermione was sick of all this. Of being told what and what not to do. It made no sense, she didn't like it and it was a waste of time. For once she didn't want to have to be perfect. She wanted to be herself.

Unfortunately, this seemed impossible.

At ten o' clock, Hermione was lying on her bed, forgetting most of the annoying day. This was mainly because she, Tanisha, Ryan and Laura were having a sort of sleepover. In her long dull looking nightshirt, she was laughing as Ryan promptly through a pillow at her. Tanisha was laughing, tossing popcorn at them both, and they were acting as undignified as they could be. Laura was lying on her back laughing like a maniac.

Then there was a knock. Hermione sat bolt upright, and they all suddenly remembered that for the past few nights, Kevyn and Malfoy had been taking rounds to check on all the girls.

"Quick," hissed Ryan, "yank on a pair of pants, all."

Checking to see that her friends were decent, and that her hair was presentable, she cracked open the door, her wand to the ready. She saw

Malfoy. And Kevyn.

Both puzzled.

"What the . . .?" summed up Kevyn

Ryan giggled. "Slumber party. Interested?" She opened the door completely. The disheveled, still laughing crew stared back at the men.

Draco stared. "Oh my . . ." his eyes traced them all. She had to admit, they were a miserable sight. Tanisha was sitting up on one of the beds, her baggy nightclothes messy. Laura's pale face was flushed, and her hair mussed. Hermione though was sitting on the bed looking like if they had found her in her office as usual, though all her curly hair was in disarray, her large tee shirt in a mess. But she was so obviously the boss.

"We'd love to ladies," he said, "But can't."

"Tsk, tsk," she said. "Too bad."

She shut the door.

"OK PEOPLE! LET'S PARTY!!!"

Tanisha cranked up the music, and then Ryan flipped into the middle, started to dance. The party was in full blast.

Hermione was happy, elated when they finally went to bed. She knew that she could wake up late. She hadn't had a slumber party for years, and was happy . . . happy, elated, content.

France, so far was good.

But it would get better.


	7. Damn the Man

Damn the Man

Disclaimer: I own no characters, places, except those made up.

Draco knew that Hermione had been looking for him. But he didn't care. The next day though, the beach seemed unappealing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Potter were chilly to the day. And he didn't feel like tanning . . . he had tanned enough.

Sitting down, sipping finest wine, in the finest crystal, he stared around. At midday, he could hear the sounds of sleepy women coming down the stairs. Kevyn, who had been looking outside, looked around.

Four very sleepy looking women came downstairs.

Kevyn looked at Laura, her slender willowy frame looking like it would blow away at a puff of wind. Following her appeared Ryan, her black hair tumbling down, her brilliant blue eyes verging towards indigo in need of sleep.

"M-o-o-rning, everyone."

"Actually, Ryan, it's afternoon."

"Oh."

Tanisha came next, her twist done hair flying all over the place, brown eyes also sleepy, her dark chocolate skin very dark against the white outfit she was wearing. Lastly came Hermione, her chestnut curls flying. Her large outfit was concealing. Why did women insist . . .?

"Good morning, everyone . . . .no wait, afternoon."

Everyone was lazier today. Somehow, the days were now running into days of sun drenched glory and nights of laughter. They hadn't been there for so long though—not even a week. The hot sultry days were spent at the beach, being lazy, and they hadn't forgotten the real reason why they came there. Pictures. Pictures of hot lazy days, of the lazing couples of Samuel and Latoya, Ginny and Harry and lately Kevyn and Laura.

Splashing in the water. Ryan took crazy pictures at the slumber party. They were crazy pictures, one of Tanisha doing a handstand, Hermione laughing, Laura turning furiously red. Then they had one of Draco lying full length on the sand, still tickling Hermione's feet. There was one of him drinking champagne to their health, wearing a great watch. That wasn't the only jewelry picture. Hermione had bedecked herself and the others and they pretended to be queens.

They had all changed into their swimsuits.

And then . . .

Laura suddenly felt a hand, on her shoulder and turned to see Kevyn. With a nervous glance she stole a glance at the others, and allowed herself to be led, slight frame in its baby blue swimsuit overshadowed by his stockiness. So gently, he caught her hand and the two of them disappeared, slipped away.

Tanisha mock sighed. "Seems that we, Mike and M.J. are the only sensible spinsters." Then they all laughed.

Ryan, meanwhile had disappeared. Not worrying they knew that she had gone to spy on Laura and Kevyn, knowing that she liked romance shots. She was the official or unofficial photographer. One day she had taken a picture of Ginny taking a flower from Harry, blushing delicately.

It was laughter when she came back.

"Where have you been?"

"Well . . . I'm sure Laura would like to tell us . . ."

With a laugh they ran to the water and dove in. Ginny was already there and screamed as they dove in and attacked her. Nearby, the usually dignified twins, Mike and M.J. swam over and joined the fight with a scream as they all attacked Ginny. Out of nowhere appeared Kevyn and Laura, also attacking Ginny, who was trying to swim away from all this madness.

Then Harry came in and rescued his wife, and they turned the attack onto Laura, squealing with joy.

It was a wonderful picture, but there was no one to see it . . . or was there?

Back at the house Draco was listening to the sounds of the others splashing themselves with water and being ducked and such things. He had the house to himself, and was happy about that. Left in quietude he knew that he would not be targeted by annoying jackasses who would attack him for stupidly simple reasons. He didn't really care, but it was growing increasingly annoying.

He resisted the urge to torment Mrs. Potter with the Bat Bogey Hex. Revenge was sweet. But subtle revenge was sweeter. He would probably be fired for that . . . and he really didn't feel like dueling with Potty.

He sighed. Solitude was all well and good, but right now it was annoying. He heard a sound at the door. Hermione.

With a soft laugh he got up. Yes, revenge was sweet.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Hermione suddenly spotted Draco, just before he spotted her. Or so she thought.

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I just came back from the beach."

"Oh.'

"There's a meeting in the back garden at around sunset . . . spooky ghost stories, fine wine . . ."

He chuckled softly. "Interesting . . . ."

Hermione suddenly felt chilled. "Listen, I'm sorry for the way Harry was yesterday with you—he's really overprotective."

He said nothing.

"Just wanted to say that . . . Draco."

She left. Presumably back towards the beach.

"Thanks . . . .Hermione," he whispered.

Hermione, still, like the others, dressed in a swimsuit. So she had to change. And started on the path into the villa. Alone. Then out of the shadows melted a man . . . .

"Draco?"

"Good evening. Again."

"Were you planning to scare me?"

"No."

"Good," she said decidedly. "I would have hexed you."

"I know."

They had reached the porch. Large, wooden and beautiful.

"So, are you half as dangerous as Harry makes out?" she asked him. Then she mentally kicked herself.

His chuckle so soft, she could barely hear it, he answered. "No."

Suddenly her back was to the nearby pole, and one of his hands was holding both of hers, the other propping him on the said pole.

"Worse."

She struggled. She was trying to get free, not to accept that he had her backed into a pole.

He laughed at her, soft, rather like the one that he had made earlier. However, instead of chilling her, a slow, warm feeling traced all up her skin. Her discipline. Her cool, strong mask she'd worn for two years. Where was it? Great, she thought. Control vanished.

Actually, how could it not? He was very much male. Tall, strong, and with a warm, but dark and dangerous scent that was exquisitely his. And he was so warm. She stared up at him, struggling more, trying not to think about him. '_Bloody bastard, Malfoy!'_ she screamed mentally. It showed in her eyes. And though the laugh wasn't verbal, she could see it lurking behind the dark eyes. Dark? She thought that they were silver. _Bloody bastard!_

She struggled more.

"Don't fight, Hermione," he drawled, especially on the last word. Control, she forced. Control.

She regained some. "You have me backed up to a pole, and you tell me not to struggle?" she hissed.

"Well, Hermione, I know you like it."

Was she that obvious? She shut her eyes. Maybe if couldn't see him . . . oh damn the man. She could feel him. Feel practically every move he made, every breath he took. And it was reducing her body to quivers. Loose, quivering pulses. No. It couldn't be. Strong. Good grief, she was acting exactly like a teenager with a hormone imbalance.

She blinked open her eyes.

Big mistake.

His eyes glittered near hers, verging towards dark, stormy grey with flashes of blue. And he was too close. Barely two inches from her face, his other hand propping him up and effectively stopping her from trying to go anywhere. Every feature, including the slight bend in his nose, and his hair swinging round his face, framing it.

"Let me go."

"One thing first. It'll be a fair bargain."

Then he kissed her.

He kissed her, tenderly, just lightly enough to make her tremble. Just sweetly enough to make her want to cry from how soft, how gentle he was. It was tender, soft, slow. Then it changed. The pace changed. He wasn't teasing her, he wanted to taste her. He caught her, held her. She was vaguely aware of him letting go of her hands as he ruthlessly exploited and tasted her. And she responded. She met him back with the same kind of desperation. Her hands slid through his hair, pulling him closer.

He pulled back, still close to her, even as she let out a half strangled whimper as he pulled back. Suddenly she became very much aware of her position.

She was backed up on a pole, with Draco Malfoy half covering her, her arms around his neck, one of his supporting her back.

And she didn't give a hoot who passed by.

He stared down at her, and she could feel him panting. His eyes were darker. And suddenly he smiled, a slow, laughing smile, that had her sending back one of her annoying elfish smiles back at him.

"See, Hermione," he whispered her name. "I told you liked it."

"It was a fair bargain."

"That too."

They heard voices. Slowly, unwillingly, he pulled them both stable, and let go of Hermione, who, out of habit, pulled all of her hair back into a ponytail, even as he somehow did the same.

"So, in the back garden, this evening, Miss Granger?"

She knew, by instinct, that Ginny and Harry had just walked into the garden. "But of course," she said, in a cool, clipped tone. "Ghost stories, fine wine,"

He interrupted her neatly. "Then I shall be there."

She pulled herself upstairs, then, plopped onto her bed.

Her lips were burning. As she changed, she prayed that no one would come in there. Because she knew that the fact that she was as nervous as hell was written right across her face. She also knew that she looked guilty.

And she felt that way, a little. Ron was her first love. But she never thought of him. But she remembered Hogwarts. Ron was gone. He wasn't coming back. And it was no use feeling guilty. The only thing was, Ron, nor anyone else, had teased her like that. Had made her laugh and not care about a thing in the world. And she had a very strange feeling

That this whole guilt

Was due

To

The Weather. Never again would she even think of sending her employees, including herself in this crazy state, anywhere overseas. It just wasn't good for her. She firmly convinced herself of that. This whole atmosphere was conducive to this kind of nonsense. She was slowly regaining control. Each carefully constructed barrier was gradually returning. For two years, she'd managed to keep herself void of feeling, to forget normal things and pleasures. Except coffee. And the second Draco Malfoy walked through her door, that hard won, cold, impersonal control had vanished. Splintered for the first time in years.

And today, it went clean out the window.

**_Damn the man_**.

Thank God they were leaving the day after tomorrow for Paris. This beach was just too susceptible to this nonsense.

&&&&&

Sorry, I'm so sorry for not updating. But you see, my computer nearly crashed. I'm very sorry, anyway, this is the second update for this story in less than um. Twenty four or so hours. And guess what? There's a third, following this. Rapid Fire.


	8. The Dragon Box

The Dragon Box

Disclaimer: As usual.

Paris. A city of crazy lights, the Eiffel Tower, Musée de Louvre, so many things. And of course, the major thing.

Fashion.

It was almost a Mecca for all fashion mad people. And with the anticipation of a season change, it was jammed. The smells, the sights, the people. Miraculously chic clothes. Nothing but fashion. And of course, what Hermione really planned on getting.

Besides indulging herself in designer accessories. Namely Chanel. She'd gone on a crazy shopping spree.

Jewelry. Gemstones. Things for the shop. She had the money, the time, the leisure. And of course, just in case, and also rather unfortunately, a bodyguard. That was of course, her fault for hiring him.

Malfoy.

He was walking so coolly with her. And unfortunately, or maybe fortunately he was disgustingly fluent in French. In the hustle and bustle of shoppers, he edged her neatly through, almost as impersonal as she. Or maybe more. She forced herself to forget what had happened at the villa. Unfortunately, at the hotel—grief, this was money, but fortunately her shop had enough, due to Laura's ingenuity—at night in the darkness, she would remember the sunshine and freedom.

As it were, she knew that he had remarkable knowledge of gemstones, and was professional, probably why she hired him. And something about him usually cowed the mad idiots who looked at Hermione like they wanted nothing more than to rip her off.

He was a valuable asset.

&&&&&&&

It was, as usual another shopping day. And this particular day was a full schedule in terms of gemstone searching. So far, with two remaining days in France, they had done remarkably well. They just needed a couple more things.

He had felt his boss's elation when she purchased quite a few watches from Cartier. The joy of finally acquiring high class goods was evident under the layered, smooth 'buying face' exterior. Half a ton of things were neatly placed in the safe. The other half were placed safe smuggled in every body's suitcase or box.

He had seen the way Potter had narrowed his eyes, not trusting him with the implicitly precious objects. And maybe he had the right. After all, one of these would buy him his ticket back to freedom, riches, and just possibly, respect. Fat chance. He knew that. Besides, he was playing honest. Until it suited him otherwise. But it didn't seem like that would be possible for quite a while.

At any rate.

He and Miss Granger, unaccompanied because of the fact that she always found it so much easier to work by themselves, had hit all major stops. All major areas. And now, it was time to go backstreet. It was another reason why they were alone. He knew that most of the others didn't have the guts to take her on the other side of the street.

It suited him perfectly. He had been high class, but after all, his was a criminal family. The thought brought a smirk to his face. This was his element. And maybe, just maybe, they'd survive.

It turned out that after all Granger possessed one of the coolest heads and sharpest tongues. He'd tested her, or possibly vice versa, yesterday when she had neatly stopped into a little, sleaze's shop quite quickly. The woman was versatile. Her neat, cool, clipped French guarded her, and when they left, they were the owners of a huge amount of black pearls. A necklace.

He knew they hadn't been stolen.

They were old Malfoy pearls. Just seeing them made him even more determined to get them back.

He loved them.

Hermione looked back at him, eyes half shone in the side street.

She stopped. "That shop?"

He stared at it. Little, but no doubt not quite respectable. Just what he loved. And he knew to avoid stolen goods. So did she. "Perfect."

She nodded, and her heels clicked as she stepped into the little area of space.

Inside, dull gleams shimmered around him. Soft white flashes of pearls passed him. One look and he could see that they were fake goods. Genuine was perfection. And he turned and sent a cold glance at her. It said plainly Watch your back. The grim smile that was passed back didn't look like it was the smile that Ginny knew. It was more predatory with absolutely no warmth.

She looked like an angel, but played like the devil.

Oh yes, he stood by his previous statement. She was plainly a woman of contrasts. Or not so plainly. He brushed the summer evening out of his head.

The shopkeeper materialized out of the shadows. A small stocky main, his eyes held plainly the greedy hope for wealth. Malfoy felt his lip curl. An instinctive move, bred into him.

The shopkeeper shrunk back.

"Greetings," said the Frenchman, in heavily accented English. "What is that you wish?"

He shrugged. "Possibly something of use." His voice was drawling, and his attitude said obviously that he didn't think much of the place. Hermione looked up. Her expression showed a tinge of surprise.

Why be? He was a Malfoy. And he knew exactly how to degrade a shopkeeper—and his prices. The man obviously that that he was the devil himself. How surprising.

The man bristled, but was obviously a bit too scared to say anything. He felt delighted. It had been too long since he'd done this. People thought they had seen his bad side. Ha.

Hermione then curious, asked him a question about a pair of earrings. She knew that she already had a necklace of pearls. The earrings completed the set.

The man's face lit up. "Those, ah, those are the fine pearls, non? Black, excellent colour. Orient good. Tres belle."

"Save the appraisals. The price."

He told her.

"An absurd price. I will check other places. In the meanwhile . . ." She got them, at a very low price.

He looked over his side of the store. A couple of unset gemstones shimmered. Amber, to be exact. Beautiful stone. Also, though they would not need it now, autumn and gold tints seemed a perfect match. He called the man's attention to him.

"May I?"

The man pulled them out for him.

Neatly, coolly, he began the appraisal. It seemed genuine. Beautiful colour, rather old, elegant. The faint lingering smell seemed to be correct. When he had finished with that particular one, he checked another piece.

Meanwhile, Hermione was checking on her side of the shop. She saw several things that she would have liked, but either had already or they were unnecessary. The price was no problem, as she knew how to bring that done. Malfoy was staring at pieces of amber.

She looked up at the Frenchman, who obviously thought that she was going to be the easier one to rip off. Malfoy's sneer reduced him to jelly. Actually, she thought, he had that effect on most people. Just for different reasons.

She looked up at the man. "Have you nothing better?"

He looked rather nettled. "But of course." Piece after piece he laid before her.

At last, she said, "Nothing meets my interest."

The man looked even more peeved, then she saw a shrewd smile flick across his face. He thought he had her now.

He disappeared into the back, and she waited.

Hermione suddenly stared at what he held in his hand. A rosewood box, intricately carved. On the top was an intricate carving of a dragon. A carved M was in a corner. This box possessed the age of centuries. An almost strange aura passed around it.

The man opened the box. Hermione fought for the last shred of control, even as she stared down at the find of a century. Unset gems were eying her, almost human. Twelve of them, a birthstone set. Each of them was staring at her, drawing her in with the spell. This was something she hadn't seen yet. Every one of them had a mysterious, enigmatic aura.

One would have been captivating enough. Twelve was worse. Sparkling facets gleamed at her, except for the pearl. The lustre was perfection, a cool black creamy eye.

Perfect. Each followed the rules. All nestled in cream satin.

She stared at him. "This is actually worth seeing."

Draco heard the words, and more importantly heard the background tone behind them. Enchanted allure. Almost as if she was . . .

He stepped full across the room.

And when he saw what he saw, he only hissed a few words. Barely audible.

"_Merde._ _Fils de une pétasse_." French was another of his languages. It happened to be his second one. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It just wasn't real.

"Do you see? This is actually worth buying."

He shut the cover, and the carved wood looked at him. "I'll buy it," he informed the man.  
"As well as the amber."

The Frenchman looked happy. Hermione, however, wasn't.

She turned to argue. He caught her wrist and applied very light pressure to the pulse spot. It was a subtle, warning gesture. "As a gift." He brushed a kiss across her cheek.

He bargained the price, and paid the man considerably less than he asked for. Then, with the box safely in a bag, under his arm, he left the shop, with Hermione, who was carrying the amber.

As soon as they were out of any type of ear shot, she blew up.

"What were you thinking of back there? That was _my_ purchase!" she said, obviously furious.

"It's no wonder that Potter is frightened to leave you alone," he said, with his voice cold as ice.

She interrupted. "Let's leave my orders from Harry out of this. _Explain yourself!_"

"He's right on one count. You really shouldn't be left alone. And it's just as well you have me for company when the first thing you walk off and try to do without supervision is buy cursed gems!"

"Crackpot lie. How do you know?"

He lost it completely now. "You fool. And it's a good thing you're my employer, or I'd have called you worse! You think that when a box is engraved with a dragon, makes you lose your senses that I can't tell it's cursed? You think that the dragon was for an accident? You think that **M** was an accident?! Well, it wasn't. And I'll tell you why. _Dragon. Draco_. Same thing. It's practically a name tag. Complete with the end."

She looked uncertain, and definitely scared.

"_Draco M_. The M, by the way," he said sarcastically, "stands for Malfoy. It's a Malfoy heirloom."

"And you wanted it back."

His laugh was short, unamused. More like a snarl. "Hell no. But you think you're walking off with it? Only a Malfoy can own this box—and its contents— without being cursed. I sold it in England. Do you think the fact that it's in France is an accident?"

Her voice was cool. "So what about your mother, when she owned it for a while?"

He shot her a look of exasperation. He knew very well she was just being difficult. "Fool," he said. "She was married to a Malfoy."

He caught her arm, and very neatly dragged her to the train station. "We're going back," he said. "And from now on, you aren't walking around unsupervised."

He didn't care how much she fumed at him. It didn't matter.

Back safely in the hotel room, he put the box in the secret compartment in his trunk. It was just a little fuller than it had been when he had left. Kevyn, still his roommate, wasn't there. He was probably out with Laura. He heard Hermione leave with Ginny. He was alone.

As usual.

It was absolute bliss. The box that was hidden in the suitcase was one of the most important heirlooms. He'd found the non cursed black pearls that he loved. Somehow, his life was going according to some kind of plan. He consulted his notebook, and smiled. He had, or the shop had, same difference, filled requirements, complete with stock. Right on schedule. His job, so far was done. All that remained was the little feathery beaded things that the women, would buy. The drapes for the windows.

Yes, he was done. So far.

Ryan suddenly popped up.

"Draco. Hello!"

"Ryan. Hi."

"I've got them." She spilled them all over the bed, beaded, fluffy things and feathers and pieces of coloured glass.

"Hold it! This is my bed, I don't want _feathers_!"

She laughed merrily. "No matter. In a couple of days, we're going back to England. Dull, but true."

He agreed. "Ah, well, price we must pay. See you later."

She left. And she smiled. If only anyone knew. But she would guard the secret with her life.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Well, here we are. They're going to leave France soon. Unless, of course, you people review to say you want to hear more from France. Then again . . .


	9. The Preparations

The Preparations

Disclaimer: I own no Harry Potter characters . . . etc. etc. I just write plot and other characters.

Draco knew that Hermione was becoming increasingly edgy as the days went by. She was almost constantly buying, buying, buying. Summer was halfway near—after all it was only two weeks since they came back from France with glorious tans—but that wasn't his worry.

What his worry was just happened to be the Dragon Box. Two weeks in his house and he stared at it, and it and him. He had no idea what to do with it. He loved it, it being one of his favourite heirlooms. On the other, more practical side, he needed to sell it. It had brought a mint of money.

And then what happened? Your boss very nearly bought it!

Damn it, he thought, now in a foul temper. He didn't like thinking about Hermione. Or the box. Either drove him mad. One with absolute and furious exasperation tinged with something else, and one with complete love but no idea what to do with it. The latter, no matter what you might think, was the box.

He flicked the light and decided to sleep, after all, wasn't that safe?

&&&&&&&&&&

As he slipped himself into his office again, a familiar routine, he was immediately hit by a whole set of memos. Not that he was late, or anything, but at once, cream, wine and then two white memos swerved down onto his desk.

The cream one he read first, it being Hermione's. It simply stated that she wished a meeting in forty five minutes. The wine memo was Kevyn's. In one hour, he needed to talk to him about the remaining budget. The white ones were M.J. and Mike. A design was needed, and on the double.

He rolled his eyes. Yet again, plagued. He went downstairs to M.J. and Mike.

"Ah. Draco. There you are," said M.J. smiling. "We may or may not have a problem. We need this diamond set in a design. It's an engagement ring."

He looked at it. "It's got the three C's. Whew." It had the three Cs, and a glitter and polish that shocked him beyond belief. "Any specifications?"

"Yeah. We're setting this in platinum."

He whistled. "Platinum? This guy's got some serious money."

"Yeah. And that's why we need a design."

He checked his watch. "Sure. Give me to the end of the day. I don't really have anything else to do, but I've got a meeting with the boss, and then with Kevyn in ten minutes."

They nodded. "Alright."

He Apparated again, straight into Hermione's room, right on the dot of nine.

"Mr. Malfoy. Please sit down."

He sat, and laced his fingers and watched her. "Miss Granger. You are well, I presume." Suave, debonair and charming. Almost always worked.

"I am well. I trust that you are the same." The quirk of her eyebrow told him quite plainly: Give it a rest.

He smiled. "What do you want me for?"

"That's more like it." She smiled at that, and handed him a handout. He scanned it, quickly, mentally, and when he looked up, he was smiling. "But perfect . . ."

"Thank you. Now, as you read it is summer preparation. Next week, we put out the window pieces. According to plan. Oh and here."

A stack of Muggle photos was handed to him. Leafing through them, he realized what they were: France mementos. "Great and good. Good morning Hermione."

"And the same, Draco." The air was crackling with static electricity. It was a habit of both of theirs.

He dodged out. Being in her presence, smelling the air drove him absolutely crazy. And she wasn't wearing the usual perfume. She was wearing a different, but not less maddening one. He shook his head slightly, and then proceeded down the corridor to Kevyn's office.

It was well decorated with burgundy and wine carpets and a little lighter for the walls. In the middle was Kevyn. On his desk was a picture of Laura. Draco hid the smile. The France trip had set off a series of romantic repercussions. Not that he believed in romance, but look at it: Potter and his wife, Kevyn and Laura, Sam and Latoya, Hermione and . . . him?

This time the smile was visual as he sat down.

"What put you in such a good mood today?" asked Kevyn. He knew very well that Malfoy was not the type to smile without reason.

"Ah, nothing much. And you?"

He rolled his eyes at him. "Laura."

"Figures. And what can I do for you?"

"Your section of marketing coincides with accounts, as it so happens. That's unfortunate for me, but there it is."

He jabbed a light spell with his wand at Kevyn. "Watch it. I'm the wizard." He purposely missed him. Who'd have thought that he'd get along with Muggles?

Kevyn, who'd ducked, laughed and said "Whatever. I have been instructed to hand out eight hundred pounds, and send you, Ryan, and whoever else wants to go on a shopping spree. That includes Laura."

"And you're not coming because . . . ?"

He waved around the office. "Paperwork. The boss is on my tail," he said rolling his eyes and laughing. "And as for Laura . . ."

The words were unspoken and perfectly understood. Draco smirked. "As flattered as I am to be a potential rival for the hand of the fair-haired and lovely Laura, my eyes are set on bigger game, pardon the term."

Kevyn raised his eyebrows. "Bigger game? Miss Hermione Granger of course."

He nodded. "Naturally. Though at the moment, I'm trying to forget that. So is she."

Kevyn there laughed. "I'll give you till the end of the year."

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Of course, he would have preferred if he'd done this alone. Actually he would have preferred if he didn't have to do this at all. Surrounded by females: Hermione, Ryan, Laura and Tanisha was not his idea of fun. Though it had its perks.

Every salesman suddenly became absolutely helpful at the sight of the women, and any rude ones were either shut up by the latter three flirting, Hermione's dry, cold sarcasm, or his mere charm. The saleswomen loved charm. Hermione rolled her eyes, after all, what could she do?

Nothing.

It was fun, in a way, to go shopping for items like this. From as simple as large felt tip pens to as complicated as fabric, a list was checked.

Hermione was at the moment inspecting a piece of leopard print velvet. And then black velvet. The black velvet gave her more food for the thought. In her mind's eye, she saw the panther in the tree with the glittering, gleaming eyes. But then she also saw the classy black dress dripping with diamonds.

"Decisions, decisions," she heard, and without looking up, said "What Malfoy?"

He sighed. "Always hostile." Not that it bothered him. "What are you trying to decide, anyway?"

"Black or leopard print velvet."

"Leopard print."

"Thanks for making up my mind. I'll buy the black one." She was being childish. She knew it. She bought it. And looked up in time to see the glint in his eye. "Bastard."

"What? I do prefer the black one. Whatever works."

Her hand glowed with the spell. Wandless magic was hard, but it would still work. "Leave me alone, will you?"

He stared straight at her eyes. "I never did a thing to you." And then he watched her. The brown, expressionless eyes suddenly flashed with anger. The orb disappeared. She couldn't hold concentration. He smirked. She turned her eyes away.

Ah yes. To torment her. He loved it.

It was amazing how they looked, when they came back. Laden down with bags, pieces of fabric, and lots and lots of sequins. Hermione managed to unlock the door and let them into the store room. The others were surprised at it all. Fabric beyond beauty.

"Well," said Hermione, briskly. "Summer is soon, and this is the décor. This is what you have to do. Each of you is going to get a task."

And they did. Draco was grumbling. He, Kevyn and Sam were woefully sitting down cutting out leaf and shadow shapes. The women were cutting dresses out, all but Ryan. She was picking and enlarging a few pictures to add to the gorgeous décor.

The men were reporting frequently to the busy people. Mike and M.J. now turned to the gemstone planning, M.J. checking to make sure the gems would fit in perfectly.

And so it was. Time became more and more pressed. They all worried about finishing.

Gloriously gems were polished, examined, worked on. Since they were taking in no more stock, he, Kevyn and Laura were added to the gem cutting and inspecting. Hermione occasionally joined them, and that's when they loved it best.

Hermione breathed a sigh of wonder, and Laura looked over her shoulder. "It's genuine."

"Of course it's genuine," Malfoy snapped. "Excellent orient, superb colour and near perfect shape. It's not a perfect sphere—one end dented in. Lovely shade of black."

Laura stared at him. "You are on the other end of the room, looking at diamonds, by yourself, since Kevyn just came over here to see what we're talking about. How on earth do you know?"

"I have my ways and means." Naturally. It was one the Malfoy heirlooms that he loved like an old friend. "I've got a blue diamond over here. Nowhere near wonderful, but blue nonetheless."

"Let me see." Hermione bent over his shoulder, and he wished she wouldn't do that. Her scent was extremely feminine. "Good point. That compartment."

They had been sorting for the whole day. Occasionally, one of the four cashiers exchanged with the others and let them stretch a bit. Hermione refused to let him go on cashier duty. Apparently he was too valuable. Ginny was often on. She had nothing to do.

Working like this, though comfortable, did require perks. And the one what he saw next bowled him over. He whistled.

"What's got you whistling?" asked Kevyn.

"Another blue. Who on earth bought it?"

Hermione inspected it. "Me."

"No surprises there. This little baby—though little isn't really the word—is the size of a baby's fist. And it's blue." His drawl was pronounced. It happened when he didn't keep it in check.

"It's worth money. No way is she going in the window." The gems were sorted so that they had a few pieces and raw gems for the window. Uncut stones and cut. It was an amazing plan, and meanwhile, the others continued to cut out fabric in spare time. Things were painted and assembled. It was a glorious feeling to be nearly ready.

&&&&&&&

Better yet to be ready. It was the weekend over which a magnificent transformation was to be made. They boarded the windows, and anyone coming in was issued with a pass. Those unlawfully entering were either kicked out or hexed out by Ginny.

The painting of additions to the wall were done. They all began to climb into the person size windows, and then began to stick. Models of trees, umbrellas, and cut out people, skylines, lights and animals were in.

And then the gems.

On Sunday they were finished. And Hermione set a purpose resolution to visit Le Café to see how it looked from across the street.

&&&&&&&&&&

Sorry, sorry and sorry. Computer did crash. Am using borrowed one. Updating soon . . . I think. Of course I don't have my drafts!!!

Then again, you people don't care . . .you won't review. :'(


	10. Guardian of the Treasure

Guardian of the Treasure

Disclaimer: Own nothing but plot and original characters.

Chanel BW, look for one of your favourite lines.

Now, there is a really cool author who could get more reviews--her name is ewagurl4eva. She has two Hermione/Draco stories-- Fallen White Roses and Things Unknown. Both are good, with the first providing a darn roller coaster ride--all the fainting at the ends of chapters(only twice)--the second with some really good funny lines, and one that will go down in history.

SO GET TO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! READ THEM BOTH!!!!!!!!

Guardian of the Treasure

Hermione and Ginny stood like two giggling teenagers right outside Le Cafe, surveying Jewellery Exquisite with an eagle's eyes. It was absolutely stunning: what had started out on a piece of paper that now became a fully fledged lush, exotic scene for summer. Already the few early morning passers by stopped to stare at the display appreciatively. Some of the men stopped to stare at both the women and the display; after all, each was a knock out.

Hermione was in a very good mood at the time, since Ginny was talking to her, and the two of them were happy, almost pushed back to Hogwarts days as if Hermione was not standing in front of her own business with her Personal Assisstant. Back when their lives were unclouded by boys.

Unfortunately, the boys were now men, and were extremely provoking, though sweet, and things weren't always what they appeared. This lesson was to be drummed into their heads.

Very, very hard, and by an unlikely source.

Hermione and Ginny crossed the road, and entered the shop. Hermione made sure it was obvious that the shop was open, even as Ryan pinned up a silhouette on the wall. Inside was rather stark compared to outside and first. From wild living colour to stark cream walls, it seemed dull. And then you saw the glitter and sparkle of the gems, and you forgot that.

Hermione breathed to make sure she was alive. It seemed like a dream. This was hers. What she had created for herself, made when she was crushed. She pinched herself now, sure it was a dream.

Ginny, who had been circling the walls, pointed out the picture of the water fight. No one had any idea who took that. Ryan was obviously in the picture, as was nearly every one else. Something about that particular sun drenched day was memorable, and she knew just who took the picture. And then, Ginny squealed, whirled Hermione around and brought her face to face with a picture of

Herself. The pairs of identical brown eyes locked onto each other, and the real Hermione was a little shocked to see herself. The picture contrasted firmly. Her face looked flawless, her eyes regarding someone coolly, but a hint of something lurked in the depths, maybe more than one thing. Her smile was what she and Malfoy alike and unknown to the other called her elfin smile, like it had snuck out when she wasn't expecting it. It was now somewhat exasperating. She looked like the Mona Lisa, holding a secret and also looked like the cat who had somehow gotten at the cream. The picture had been taken the same day of the water fight, and when the memory of sunset was still burned vividly into her head. That she ignored.

Her clothes were her normal work suit, divine jewellery included, but her shoes were someone's sexy stiletto heels. Her pose was the type that said Oh yeah I'd like to see you try it. The picture was simply titled "The Boss".

Malfoy walked in then, and stared at the picture, like everyone else was doing. He very nearly whistled, however he kept that idea to himself. His only thought was _Sexy. _Very Hermione.

"I look like a treasure guardian," said Hermione. She didn't know if she was complaining or pleased, and it tinged in her voice as undecided.

_Sexy treasure guardian_. It was very Hermione . . . very Hermione.

"Well, certainly no one is going to try stealing anything, with you watching them," remarked Ginny. "I certainly wouldn't dare to."

"You're not the only one," muttered Draco, but in an undertone so no one heard him. He spun on his heel and zoomed up the stairs, away from both the picture and the woman. The two were merging in his head, unsurprisingly, and both annoyed him. He didn't like thinking about Hermione. She nearly prevented him from working. So far, though he had nothing to do, nothing at all much.

He set a pencil to paper and began to come up with the platinum and diamond engagement ring. He liked to draw, it was one of the many lesser known things about him. Occasionally he copied drawings, but mostly he drew whatever came to mind. Often it was depressing; recently he'd burned a whole set of pictures. They were reminders of a time of his life he didn't want to remember . . . some of them were drawn when he was four, a little boy running from his father, screaming in a corner, cowering. The one at eleven when he went to Hogwarts, where he was getting depressed and lonely. One of him attempting suicide. Not that he'd ever tried that but . . .

He stared at the drawing he was supposed to draw and swore in French. He'd been drawing

a picture of famed Golden Trio. He promptly burned that, stretched, and inhaled the scents of cinnamon and vanilla mingled.

Damn it.

He promptly blocked the door. He actually drew a picture with the design for the ring, sent it downstairs, and stared at the remaining pieces of paper. Most of them were meaningless scribbles to him and the rest of the world. One was Hermione in a miniskirt. Damn, yet again . . . she must be affecting him. So he checked the watch, and disappeared into Le Cafe.

It wasn't crowded in the crazy coffee shop, but he took a near window seat so he could see the little store. It was amazingly effective, he was proud of the design.

"Draco. How nice to see you!" It was Ryan, her eyes bubbling with something more than their usual mischief. The shop door opened across the road, and babbling children came out with boxes. The silhouette which Ryan had very imaginatively called "Silhouette" gleamed in colour beyond the door again.

"What have you been up to now Ryan," he said, as she seated her self opposite him. There was space for two more.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking innocent.

"You look like you were up to mischief . . ."

She looked exactly like a little girl when she said "I haven't done a thing." He heard the muttered syllable "much."

"Ryan . . ."

"What?"

The silhouette teased him again, the rich reds, pinks oranges and dusky purples vivid as real life. A woman with curly hair was backed on something or the other, her arms around the man's neck. His hair was longish, his noise slightly crooked.

He remembered that bend. He got it when he fell down the stairs.

The whole moment suddenly came back to him with such vivid reality it was a struggle to keep his face straight.

"So Ryan, it seems that you took all the photos on the same day."

She nodded, then, frowning said "It was weird though, I was sure no one had gotten the water fight. I don't know where the picture came from."

"But you knew where _Silhouette _came from, didn't you." Draco's voice was low, silky, and the type that let people know exactly how much trouble you were in, which was, at the moment, quite a lot.

"Well . . ."

"Don't answer. I'm sure that Miss Granger will adore the picture." The eyes glittered dangerously. Ryan gulped. She was in a lot of trouble. A whole lot of trouble.

&&&&&&&&&&

Malfoy looked pretty innocent, if he could accomplish that. Which was why Hermione was suspicious. Normally he had something up his sleeve . . . something that she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know . . .

"Miss Granger."

"Skip the formalities and sit down." The air crackled with static electricity. It was distracting.

He sat. "Tut tut. So impolite, and I haven't done anything at all. Yet."

"And what exactly were you supposed to do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Several things. Tease the life out of you, and inform you." His eyes were glittering, indecipherable. She'd learnt that when his eyes glittered like that, someone was generally in some sort of trouble.

"And how did you plan on accomplishing both of those?" she asked, merely curious. Maybe that wasn't a good thing. After all, curiosity killed the cat. "You have ten minutes to accomplish both of those."

He was across by her so fast she wasn't sure if she heard a pop, but she definitely knew he was kissing her. Softly, warmly, tenderly, but he teased the life out of her. She surrendered, after all she didn't have much choice.She fought hard, but it didn't work. She would surrender. Her lips parted, and she allowed him to tease her more.

When he broke it off, she was smiling, contented. Curiosity killed the cat, but pleased the woman. The electricity had been replaced by a hot, low, hum.

"You've teased me now," she said, not able to hid the pleasure. "Now get off of my desk, and tell me what you had to tell me."

He smiled, dangerously. "Nothing much. Just that silhouette is a stunning photo, of a couple, on a verandah, in France, this year. Take one wild guess."

He bent and kissed her again, long, slow and sensuous. She wasn't expecting it, but it pleased her. The hum rose a little, adding a slight throb. "It's summer, dahling," he informed her, drawling out the last word as was his tendency.

Then he was gone.

She hated all three kisses he'd given her in total. Each one left her disoriented, annoyed, and worst of all, wishing for more. It was strictly forbidden, mainly by herself, but she couldn't ignore her own self. She was attracted to him. _Oh gods above, no_. She tried to vanquish that thought by thinking of the snobby boy that she'd left at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the latter image of the too-sexy man refused to leave her at all.

Damn. As if she'd needed reminding it was summer.

She pondered what he'd told her, about the silhouette, and suddenly she was a little more annoyed and a little amused. And so she sent out the cream memo towards Ryan, her colour. The cinnamon and vanilla candles that she usually burned were no help. She was in a strange mood, she realized.

She stretched, and realized the heat hum was only in her own blood, pounding past her ears.

She slipped off her shoes, ignoring--or trying to--the lingering male scent that clung to her office. Curling into her chair, she watched the door like a cat.

Ryan was up in a minute, looking slightly apprehensive. But this couldn't hide her natural bubbling spirits. "So Hermione, what did you want me for?"

Hermione smiled, pleasantly enough. "You know what I wanted you for."

"You mean the picture?"

"Really now," said Hermione, dryly.

"Umm . . . am I fired?"

This caught Hermione entirely by surprise, and she started to laugh. The laughter rang out of her in surprised peals. It had been a while since she had laughed like that, and it was good for her. "No, certainly not. You're actually not even in trouble. Just that warn both me and Malfoy if you plan to do that kind of thing in the future."

Ryan looked relieved.

"Now, my dear friend Ryan, we'll find out how long it will take for the rest of them too figure out. If they figure it out sooner rather than later, I may or may not dock your pay. By about five dollars."

"What are you going to do with five dollars?" asked Ryan, surprised.

"I'll figure it out, somehow. Good evening."

"Evening, Mione."

&&&&&&&&&&

Ryan ran into Draco not too long afterward.

"I'm not in trouble," she said, pleased. "Guess you were wrong."

He looked at her, and suddenly she felt like a student. "I'll let you in on two things. One, you made her laugh. She does adore it. Two, anything for an excuse. Good evening Ryan," he said, disappearing with a smirk.

Anything for an excuse, huh? asked Ryan, mentally. To go in there. And Hermione still looked like a cat with cream. Interesting. Very interesting . . .

&&&&&&&&&&

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!


	11. The Gold Dragon

The Gold Dragon

Disclaimer: Sigh. I didn't win the Harry Potter ownership lottery, which went to J.K. Rowling again. The Plot lottery I won. Need I say more?

It was summer for real. The heat began to lie in the air, and frequently people came in buying wedding rings and such for their trips to the Caribbean islands for their summer vacations, where they got married on the beach.

Hermione did not mind the heat so much, but it was irritating, and she was very relieved for the Air Conditioning. Her hair she often wound up into a sort of chignon with a pen stuck through it as a chopstick.

Her office looked like a mess, she decided. But she couldn't do anything much about that, and quite frankly she didn't want to. Pieces of paper lay in an organized mess all over, and she knew exactly where every thing was.

However, if Ginny told her through various means, usually magical, that any visitor was arriving there, the room would be as neat and tidy as the day it was first furnished.

This was a never ceasing amusement to the rest of the staff, particularly Laura and Draco, who were nearest to her office.

Draco's office was also a mess. Complicated calculations and pieces of scrap drawings lay all around, but his office could be neatened suddenly as well.

That was exactly how he liked it.

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Inside Le Café, tourists jam-packed the little shop. Hermione, who didn't mind any of this really as most of them went into her own shop, was somewhat put out, however because of the fact that they had taken nearly every seat in the place.

She twisted and turned and dodged various people until she found her corner, and then found—

"Draco?"

"Hermione. How nice to see you. Have a seat," he said, indicating the chair opposite him. He moved everything off the table, and she say him put them in a type of folder. He was having coffee again, as usual.

She slid gracefully onto the seat, and put her coffee down on the table. Neither of them cared that it was summer, because coffee was their fuel.

"What's with all the paper?" she asked, downing half of the cup at once.

"Work, which you give me, my dear boss. What did you think it was?"

"I was simply idly curious."

"I never remembered you being the type to be idle," he said, looking surprised. His eyes fell on the pen in her hair, and he smiled.

"Everyone changes, Draco. As I'm sure you know."

"Naturally."

It was always like this, the light teasing, the coffee, and Hermione came to realize that she depended on it to the utmost.

"What are you pondering so?"

She glanced up, startled. "What?"

He repeated the question.

"Oh. Nothing, really. Just the newest intake of tourists probably means from the looks of this coffee shop, an increase of our _Ring Made While You Wait_. Most of these people look like they want nothing more than to elope."

Draco chuckled. "Including Kevyn and Laura I presume. You wouldn't charge them?"

"Maybe. I wonder if they're getting married. I love weddings."

"Yes, you are the type to."

At the look on her face, he explained. "You look the type to be glad to see two people to be set into eternal bondage to each other."

"Cynical person. I suppose you hate weddings then?"

"Oh no. The best part is the drinks."

"Weddings are lovely. They're not like you think."

The raised eyebrow told her he was going to contradict her, and he did. "They are, if you watch mostly arranged marriages."

She looked up. "They're still such things in this day and age?"

"Very much so. In a way, I envied you in Hogwarts. Despite the fact you're not a pureblood, you never had to worry about the things I had to. Like arranged marriages. Quite common."

Hermione felt stunned. She imagined being in one of those marriages. "Yuck."

"Precisely."

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Ginny suddenly appeared in Hermione's office, bright and early that morning, with a look on her face that quite clearly said something was important. In her chocolate skirt and matching shirt, pregnancy became her. But she complained because she thought she was looking a bit too fat already.

"Here Hermione," she said, spilling paper all over her friend's desk. "It's like this. You've got this amount of meetings next week, and due in two weeks, this amount of people want this amount of jewellery. So in other words you're busy."

"What's the problem?"

"Mike's got the flu."

"Merde." The lapse into French was unconscious, but had started because Hermione didn't like cursing in English.

"So who's going to work? How come Laura didn't tell me?"

"Laura's not in yet. Mike just called and said M.J. was still coming but that she couldn't come."

Her mind began to turn wheels visibly. Who could do the job in place of Mike? She wasn't going to hire anybody except for extra cashiers right now, because it was difficult to find anyone at such short notice with the right experience. She couldn't have a lapse.

A knock was heard on the door. "Come in," said Hermione, briskly.

Draco walked in. "I apologize for any interruptions."

Hermione's impatient wave of the hand dismissed this. "Malfoy."

He looked directly at her. "Yes?"

"No, I wasn't calling you. That's the answer."

Ginny and Draco swapped glances with each other, both not more than a little startled. Draco, because he was confused; Ginny, because she was surprised.

The crazy employer of both, who was wearing black pants with a russet shirt and matching silk scarf looked at them, but it was Malfoy she addressed. "You are capable of creating designs for jewellery, are you not?"

"Naturally."

It was a display of arrogance so easy and instinctive that neither woman condemned him for it. One does not condemn life savers. Hermione continued, "And can you not make a certain amount of jewellery?"

"Yes."

"Can you demonstrate a piece that you made?"

He nodded. A look of concentration spread across his face, and then, quite suddenly he was holding a box. He handed it to Ginny, who handed it to Hermione, and she opened it.

She paused dead in her tracks. "The Gold Dragon."

Again he nodded, but a flicker of amusement passed behind his eyes. "Yes. Initials on the inside."

She could not believe she was holding this. This priceless mystery. She knew it well. It had been made soon after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. She felt her body flashback to the day when she first heard of it. It was actually the inspiration that caused her to go into the gem business.

_**She had been still rather depressed** about Ron's disappearance._ She didn't want to believHe was gone. Ron had disappeared, and she still had a feeling in her body that was emptiness. She shivered, but the day wasn't cold. She wanted to cry, but the tears were gone. She held on the little hope that he would come back, but something else told her it was impossible. She ignored all messages that people left her.

She was listlessly surfing the net, indulging in her love of gemstones and such things, and she idly put in emeralds. The matches that came up were stunning. Each and everyone said the same thing. Gold Dragon Disappeared. She sat up and read the story.

The mysterious Gold Dragon, a ring of a gold dragon so dubbed by the salesperson has disappeared. An unknown buyer came to collect this masterpiece of modern work, and it has not been seen since.

Hermione of the present stared at the ring in her hand, these thoughts churning in her head. It was exactly as described—a shining gold dragon that traced sinuously over a band of gold. The eyes were emerald. And the maker's initials were engraved into the inside of the ring. D.M.

She stared up and caught Draco's eyes, well aware that Ginny was staring at him as well. "That's it. You're hired extra. I'll raise your salary as well. By almost double, providing you can keep up with the extra work."

She slid the ring on one finger. It was too big, naturally as it was Draco's ring. The Gold Dragon.

Staring at the blond man in front of her, she knew exactly why it was gold.

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M.J., Ryan, Tanisha and Latoya stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

Draco rolled up his sleeves and continued to double check the inventory. The last time he did this was the past Monday. He continued to look over the shelves. His admiration was not showing on his face, due to his ability to make his face a void.

"Working. Good morning."

"Inventory?" asked M.J. She brushed back her brown hair out of her face.

"Not exactly the full stop."

"So what are you doing?"

"Working. I'm joining for about a week, until your sister is back at work. How is she?"

Draco Malfoy of before would never have asked her anything concerning a Muggle. Draco now was. "She's fine," was the reply.

"Good. What's on the list for work today?"

She dug into a portfolio, and produced it—a long list of work. "This much is finished. All the bits done in yellow. The bits in orange are half done. The pink isn't done. But the red is urgent."

His eyes scanned the list in her relatively scrappy handwriting. It was easy to see when her sister had written, because her sister's writing was much neater.

"Alright. Then let's start working."

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He swept his hair out of his face, again, pleased at his handiwork. He began again. The room smelled of metal, and metal polish. His hands were stained. He didn't mind. He was finishing the polish of the ring, including its stone.

M.J. returned and smiled at him, her face looking refreshed. "Alright, you can take lunch break."

"Are you certain?" he asked, handing her the ring and going to wash his hands.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Half hour."

He was outside, after stopping to say hello to the others inside, across the street and in the shop drinking coffee again. The Dragon, the Gold Dragon was nestled in his inside pocket. It had been in the Dragon Box, in one of the several compartments hidden inside it. All were empty save one.

The ring was cursed, as well.

He'd made sure of that.

He was joined by Hermione, as usual. Her pen stuck in her hair earned a few chilly glances by the posh tourists. She slid into the seat opposite him. "Hello."

"Hermione."

"Lunch break?"

"Yes. Or rather, coffee break."

She smiled. She knew what he was talking about. "Ah well, we just have to live with all of that."

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her. Her face looked flushed.

"Head ache."

He nodded. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about that. We're in a Muggle shop."

"No worries."

He took her hand. "You sure?"

Her face turned a pink that could be seen through the flush. "Very much so. Let go of my hand so I can drink my coffee Malfoy."

He laughed at her. "Very well. If that's what you wish." He kissed her hand before he let it go, and let her drink her coffee.

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Well, that's another chapter. Sorry for the delay. I rewrote it like thirty million times before I was happy with it. It 's also my longest chapter yet.

Now. I can't remember every reviewer's name, and I'm sorry, but this is the last chance I'll get to update before eight o clock, so I can't be fussy.

For you who said that the characters are Out of Character (O.C.) it's near impossible to write a Draco/Hermione fic with them both in character. I've only ever read one of those, but I can't remember its name. (I'm very forgetful)

Thanks to you who **demand** an update. I had no idea my story was that good :D

I'm glad you all took the time to review. It makes me get a warm fuzzy feeling, and promotes updates. I'll be better next chapter, when I may have more time.


	12. Lonely in Le Cafe

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, well, my own made up ones, but that's it.

Draco Malfoy was pleased that he now had an extra job to do; despite the fact that it was tiring, it now provided him with enough money to have a decent breakfast on mornings and a real dinner at night.

However, despite all this, at home that night, he was watching his ring. The Gold Dragon. Its eyes watched him warily, almost as if it was real. But that was no surprise. The surprise was when Miss Granger had slid it on her finger. Because she was lingering on _his_ ring, not by scent, which just lingered, but just by her slipping it on.

He wondered if she knew that.

He doubted that she did. He slipped it on his finger, and admired it anew, proud of his handiwork, and trying to ignore the fact that only a few hours ago _she_ had worn it, no matter how briefly . . .

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Arriving at work for the next few weeks as early as he did was a bit of a chore. But he'd promised Nott that if they survived, that he would make the ring. Nott and Zabini were two of the most intellectual Slytherins besides him.

He was silently thanking them. Hogwarts would have been dull without them.

Draco was in early, of course. He was never a morning person, and probably never would be either. With out much ado, he let himself into the building and noted that Hermione had driven today. She usually Apparated. Odd.

Climbing up the stairs in the silent jewellery store was a strange feeling. Inside was almost ghost like, a mere shell of the place that he was accustomed to seeing. On the top level, he slid through Weaslette's office, and was about to place all his paper on his own desk when he heard the frustrated French exclamation—and curse words that would turn most people's ears pink if they'd understood what she said—he laughed silently, and pushed open the door with a free hand.

"Langue, Mademoiselle Granger," he said, smiling at her. She was off guard, with her bare feet up on the desk as she hastily shut the little black sketch book that he'd stolen the page from. He still had it, somewhere in his apartment.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy. Why were we speaking French so early in the morning?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow at his messy portfolio.

"You started it after all. You really ought to watch your language. Some people just might understand it."

Hermione sighed and threw up her hands, on the way brushing back one of the unruly tendrils of hair that drove him mad. "I wasn't aware that you were in the building."

"Never assume that you're unwatched," he said, in a solemn tone. "You are watched all of the time, whether you like it or not," he said, merely flashing an easy grin at her in response to her frustrated, and outraged expression. "You just never know who by . . . now, I really must complete the marketing section of my job, oh and here." He handed her several pieces of paper in random order.

"Oh sorry," he said, and waved his conveniently appeared wand at them. They instantly began sorting themselves into some sort of a way.

She rolled her eyes quite expressively, and dismissed him, quite calmly.

He was in a good mood. It wasn't that he hadn't been when he woke up, but he was in a better mood right now. Something about Hermione always put him in that sort of a mode.

He sat down, fiddled, checked and noted all sorts of things that he was supposed to, include a few appointments with people who were old, annoying, and probably, quite fussy.

He sighed. Then when Ginny poked her head in through the door, he considered several things at one time. He didn't want to do this, but he wasn't only a cold blooded bastard. There were times when he had his good moments. It was small, but still . . .

"Yes, good morning, Ginny." He couldn't believe that he'd just called her Ginny. Decades of loathing and he'd called her Ginny.

He was changing.

She looked suspiciously at him, and then said in a voice not quite as frosty as it usually was, "Good morning, Malfoy. I was reminded you that you have an appointment at eleven—"

"With Mr. and Mrs. Delmont. Thank you very much."

She clearly was somewhat unnerved by his relative joviality, relative being the key word, when she said "Your Welcome, Draco." Then she had disappeared as if something hot was on her tail.

Mr. and Mrs. Delmont, at eleven.

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Mr. Delmont was one of those stiff, ironed out men that reminded him of Barty Crouch. Mrs. Delmont was a snob, plain and simple. Her nose was turned up at everything.

Her eyes took in every detail about him, from his grey eyes, which were as bland and cool as he could make them, his longish hair, which he was wearing in a ponytail that particular day, to his office, which was still green, plush and quite masculine. It was also immaculate.

He wondered, quite off handedly if she was one of those Mudblood witches who thought she was everything above normal Muggles. His smile was outwardly warm and helpful. His inward was a cool, icy sneer.

"Please sit, Sir and Madam." He had conjured two chairs for them prior to their arrival.

"So. Mr. Malfoy you say your name is? Yes, well we have come to you to have this stone here appraised. Possibly for sale in this jewellery store." The tone suggested that she didn't think much of the jewellery store.

"Very well. Could you please give it to me for evaluation?"

The box was not large, a little black box which she calmly handed to him, reluctantly letting it go.

He opened it. It was a colourless diamond that was not of the highest standard at all. Even in this dim light, it did not reflect with the fire that all good quality diamonds should. He pulled out a magnifying glass, of the tiny size, and switched on a lamp that he'd bought for himself. Normally, he would go downstairs, but he didn't need to do that.

"I'm afraid, Madam, that this diamond is not a high standard diamond. It is not worth as much as many. The diamond cutter did not utilize the original shape of the diamond and therefore did not use it to his advantage. However, it can still sell—"

"What do you mean it is not high quality? It is one of the finest that can ever be found! It was an old heirloom of my side of the family?"

"Oh? What was your family?"

"They were wizards, my boy."

Malfoy suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a wand. And something told him his memory would be wiped quite suddenly.

He'd had it. Enough was enough . . .

"No need for the Obliviate charm, sir, you see, my family, was probably older than yours," Draco said, ice undercoating his voice. As the man sputtered when Draco quite calmly escorted them to his office door he continued, "If you've never heard of the pureblood Malfoys, then obviously you are not as good as you seem. Here is your diamond. Miss Granger is there."

Hermione listened to them shouting indignation in a minute. What had Draco done now?

"Preposterous! He says our family diamond is not of good quality, and that our family does not outdate his! Our family outdates almost all families! We have purest of pure blood."

Hermione spun around. "If Mr. Malfoy says it is what it is, then it is."

"You trust that little upstart?" asked the woman incredulously.

"Draco's is one of the oldest, most pureblooded wizarding family's in England. He is of the Malfoy blood line, and if you must know," she said, her voice cool, "I'd trust him with my life. If you do not like what you have heard in this store," she continued more dangerously, "kindly get out of in here. I have an appointment in half an hour."

They left, noses in the air.

He was there before she called. "I'm flattered Hermione. You'd trust me with your life?"

She was furious with him. "_You have just offended a client there! **What**_ do you think that you're doing? You are _not_, as I **constantly** remind you, the Prince of Slytherin here! You are an ordinary, human, **_Muggle_**, man!"

He snorted. "Me, Muggle? I doubt it very highly."

"That's all you care about? Your blood? How about your job?"

"Funny you should mention that," he drawled. "Here."

Another list. And she stared. Because what was on the list was a huge list of clients, wizarding and Muggles that would easily pay up over five grand for something that the shop had.

"Satisfied?" he asked, sarcastically. "Also, I would like to point out that self defense counts. If some mad idiot tells me I'm wrong, and then points a wand at me, what do I do?"

She was speechless. She looked up to apologize.

"Also, my _dear Hermione,_" he said, "If I cared about the purity of blood, I would never have kissed _you_." His eyes were the chips of granite she knew best, and the ones she hated most.

"Good morning. I am taking my lunch break, as M.J. says that she'll cope for the day, as I worked late last evening."

He disappeared suddenly.

Hermione was left in numb shock at what he'd just said. His reason, which she hadn't listened to, she, who prided herself on being open. She'd accused him of only caring about purity of blood.

And then the point that he'd so kindly pointed out, with its cold, unfeeling, uncaring insult. But the worst part was, somehow it hadn't been unfeeling. He was hurt. She could tell. She knew.

She checked her clock, and saw her appointment was in fifteen minutes, here.

How was she supposed to survive it?

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She still felt bad, when, after the appointment she couldn't find him. He was taking a one hour lunch, she remembered. And he didn't have to go to Le Café. So she drank her coffee alone. It hurt. Badly.

If I cared about purity of blood, I'd never had kissed _you_.

It was ringing in her head, almost too painful to bear. She felt disgusting, lower than low. Even the coffee didn't help. And when he told her that he worked late . . .

_Ginny_ had been looking for her friend. Not her boss, her friend Mione. When she found her in the corner, she couldn't believe what she saw.

Hermione looked remarkably depressed, all her hair just flung in no particular way, and smudges of black on her napkin. When she touched her arm, Hermione started up so suddenly that she spilled part of her coffee.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" she asked her, putting down her own fruit tea.

"Hi Gin. What do you mean what's wrong?"

Ginny sent her friend a glance that told her what she meant.

"Oh. Well, I've offended Dra-Malf-Draco oh whatever. Him."

Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Hermione told her why Draco had looked so stone cold when she saw him gather his things and disappear down the stairs. She'd wondered. Now she knew.

"Well Hermione, why on earth did you say that?"

"Because I was upset!" snapped Hermione, through the watery voice. "Because they are the most important clients we've had for a while. I guess I was silly."

"Rather," said Ginny unfeelingly. "I don't particularly fancy Draco myself. But even the lowest of the low deserves better than that. That was mean. I'm pureblooded. But he doesn't like me . . . and as for him being Muggle! What was that about?"

Hermione looked at Ginny. "Whose side are you on?"

"No one's," then she admitted, "alright, his."

Her friend looked stunned. And the red head finished off "Could you be Muggle? No? I thought not. That was a stupid thing to tell him."

"So what do I do?"

"Hope that he's not avoiding you for the rest of the day, or rather purposely ignoring you, or leaving in the middle of your sentences, and being him, well. You'll be lucky if it's the first."

Privately, however, Ginny was wondering something. Because despite the fact that her best friend had loved Ron . . . Malfoy. Hmm. He seemed decent enough now. Then again, she was probably influenced by the fact that he'd used her name.

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He had walked home, and despite the fact that it was raining, he really didn't care. The result was that when he went inside the building, he was yelled at for dripping water. He'd merely looked disgusted, and was left alone quite quickly.

He dripped water all the way inside, dried himself off, and with his usual finesse, he dumped the work on his table and sat there designing what M.J. had asked him to design.

Finally, he threw down the pencil. He knew very well what was annoying him . . . Hermione. Because that was the most insulting thing that anyone had ever said to him. And it touched the part of him that was hurt when his father was disappointed in him.

It hurt worse than any curse he'd had placed on him—and that was what scared him.

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Yeah! Update done! Please tell me what you think. Is it too dramatic? I hope not. So this is for you nice reviewers who DEMAND updates! Yeah!

Moonlight on the Water


	13. Early in the Morning

Early in the Morning

Disclaimer: Own plot. And made up characters. That's it.

For all those who asked they _make up_ . . .

Hermione was in Jewellery Exquisite much earlier than she normally was, so at the dot of seven, the door was pushed open and a fairly young woman wearing a pair of beige pants with a white cotton shirt.

Brushing back her hair, she lugged her briefcase upstairs to her office. At once she lit her favourite candles, vanilla again, and the scent intermingled with her perfume—Chance, by Chanel—and crept under her shut door and reveled in the emptiness. Hermione herself liked the peace and quiet, though missing the warmth when her employees and friends were present. She needed time for herself, not for work, for she had finished most of that, but for her personal life.

It had always been known that Hermione was an organized person; it was a fact taken for granted. And thus she organized what she thought about. Her little memos lay in a stack on her desk, ready to be sent out, and she wrote in her loopy but neat handwriting what she wanted them to do.

She worked in silence, as was her usual, with strong, extra strong black coffee. Undisturbed peace for half an hour was bliss for her. She had been shattered when Ron was gone, and drew into her shell. She still preferred silence now. It soothed her.

That was why she stiffened when she heard the tiny, near silent click.

Hermione was still slightly paranoid, a draw back from the days of Voldemort. The paranoia was more pronounced in Harry than in her or Ginny, but she still had traces of it. No one was supposed to be in here so early. So she quietly got up, snatched up her wand and opened her door and cautiously walked out.

She walked, slowly and immediately noticed the door to Malfoy's office was open.

"I'm behind you." It was a steel wrapped voice that broke the silence.

She whirled, ready to attack and stood face to face with Draco.

The relief was so sharp that she sagged against the wall. "Draco. Good morning. You startled me."

"I can see that, Miss Granger."

The argument of yesterday came rushing back to her with the cold, distant words and by the chips of ice that were his eyes. His face was cool, empty of expression as he stood, arms folded, watching her. The effect was that she felt like a small mouse being watched by a large cat waiting to spring.

He knew that she was nervous. He could sense it quite easily, which was odd, because she had a tendency to be void of all emotions. And really, he didn't care. He trusted, he was hurt. End of story.

She swallowed visibly, took a deep breath and one of the bits of hair that was dropping over her eye she brushed back. She became assured again. "Draco. I'm very sorry about the way I acted yesterday. It was ridiculous and childlike of me, and I'm sorry for having upset you and accused you of something completely ridiculous."

For Draco, the world stopped still. Since when had anyone apologized to him? "Apology accepted."

She nodded. "Good morning then." She retreated into her office again, and the door shut with a small bang. Then a thump, then a sob. And another.

Good gods above, she was crying, he realized. How odd. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever seen or heard of her crying. . . . oh yes, when he'd spelled her teeth. And just to satisfy his curiosity, he Apparated, this time without the small pop.

She was leaning on the door, just sobbing. Nothing large, just a few choked tears. The water ran down her face, down her hands and dripped onto the carpet, where it made little dark stains.

"Why on earth are you crying?" he said, briskly.

She hadn't been aware of the fact that he was in there with her. "Me? Crying?" she said, trying to sound contemptuous of the idea and would have succeeded if her face hadn't been tear stained. "Why on earth would I do that?" she asked, mimicking his tone.

"I don't know. Are you alright?" he asked. Somehow his voice seemed a little less chilly, more concerned and . . . human.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"That's what I asked. You continue to evade the question."

She pondered that, and then said "Because you're being _such_ an _ass_. Acting all unconcerned, and all the while I _know_ that I upset you, and you're pretending that I didn't!"

She could see that she touched a nerve. His eyes flickered in colour, and in emotion, which usually meant the same thing. A funny, storm cloud grey began to appear. "Why should you care if you did?"

"Because, I, at least, care about people's feelings, especially when I've hurt them. And I'm sorry. Again. What more do you want me to say?"

He pondered, eyes closed, one arm propping him up again. Warmth, body warmth radiated off him. When he opened them, they were a strangely hypnotic silver colour that fascinated her. "Actually, nothing more. And I'm . . . sorry I hurt you, Hermione."

When she looked up at him like that, hardly daring to believe what she had heard, he couldn't decide whether or not to be exasperated.

"Well. That settles _that_ argument," she said, pushing off the door to return to her paper work.

"Where do you think you're going?" He'd efficiently trapped her against the door.

She looked at him as she would look at her friends who didn't understand their homework. "To my desk. Like you, I have to work."

"Take a break." And so he kissed her, warmly, softly, tenderly. And so she accepted what he gave her, an apology of the best kind. His hands slid through her hair, tangling themselves in the mass of waves and curls, pulling her gently closer to him. She was so petite, so warm, and so utterly female for all she pretended.

Hermione found, that when she pulled back, he'd tangled his fingers in her hair. "Draco, untangle yourself. You can't stay like that, forever."

He mock sighed. "Pity, my darling Hermione, I was so enjoying it. I suppose you'll send me off to work again?"

"You supposed right. Here's your list from me. M.J. will likely give you her own list. Now get to work."

And he did.

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Hermione was in a glowing good mood that morning, and the effect permeated to every one. It was not lost on Ginny at all; who it seemed was determined to talk to her.

"Well, good morning Hermione," she said, as she glided—as best as a pregnant woman glides—into her office. "Rumour has it that somebody looks gloriously pleased today. I wonder why," Ginny said winking.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to stop smiling, but failed. "Rumour also has it that I made love with a tall, handsome stranger on my desk this morning."

"Well, that one is a little far fetched," admitted Ginny. "Did you make up with Draco?"

"Yes, I did. Why it has me so pleased, I cannot possibly imagine."

Ginny had an idea, and though she still didn't think that Draco was the best person for Hermione, she wondered. She however, kept her mouth shut. "I could tell you. You made up, and you made out."

Hermione smiled, with out giving one hint of the answer. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. And what appointments do I have today, married-and-pregnant-woman-acting-like-an-overexcited-teenager?"

Ginny became businesslike. "Plenty. Your next one is half an hour."

Hermione rolled up her eyes. "Bring on the appointments."

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He sat in Le Café again, rather moodily it was sure, and ignoring, as usual the waitress flirting with him. She was a brunette with glowing blonde highlights and a sparkly smile. He was drinking his coffee, as usual. Even though she'd made up to him he worried about himself.

A little.

The idea was ironic. Draco Malfoy and the Mudblood. Except that she was pretty damn gorgeous.

He was well aware when somebody slid into the seat opposite, and cracking open an eye, was not surprised to find her there. Her hair was not pulled back nor in its messy chignon, but loose, wild and wavy. "Greetings, Hermione."

She sighed, exhaustedly. "I was thinking of skipping lunch, but that wouldn't be good for me."

He did what he'd always longed to do, brush back one of the soft, tendrils of her hair and placed it behind her ears. "Certainly not," he agreed, with his voice a murmur. "It isn't healthy, and also, I wouldn't be able to enjoy your presence here opposite me."

She had shivered when he tucked her hair behind her ears. "I would hate to deprive you of that," she said, coolly. "A horrible thought."

"I do believe it is," he drawled quietly.

"My heart would break if I did that," she said, sarcasm cutting a knife through her voice.

He smiled lazily at her. "I would hate for that to happen," he said, voice quieter. "Terrible occurrence."

"Dreadful happening," she said, voice sharper.

"We'd all die because of that," he said, and was gratified by her laugh.

"I suppose you were describing yourself, Malfoy," she said, with an arch of the brow.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said, smirking coolly at her. He loved to tease her, as they switched moods constantly, making life so much more interesting. "But I must be returning to my work, Hermione, my darling. You would fire me otherwise."

"The flattery is impeccable. The point is true."

He mock sighed. "Such a pity. To lose my wit and charm."

"Charming of what?"

He laughed again, an actual laugh. "Who, not what. You, of course. See you Hermione."

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As he sat, feet up on the desk, doodling, Ginny opened the door and came in again.

He looked up at her. "Ah, Ginny. Why do I get the pleasure of this visit?"

She rolled her eyes, suspicious, but not overly so. "As I am personal assistant, as well as secretary to all of you, I must remind you that you have three appointments tomorrow morning, not to mention all your other work to finish. The ring to Mr. Nott is supposed to be finished in two weeks. He says he'll wait one day outside the deadline."

"He was always impatient."

She ignored that comment. "As I speak, you have been asked to design yet another wedding ring."

"Lovely."

"And I expect you intend to finish this by all deadlines?" she asked, looking rather disapproving of his feet on his desk, and the sketch pad of doodling.

He looked up at her, smiled quite nicely and said "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then why do you ask?"

She sighed. "Very well, Malfoy. I suppose you don't."

"Of course not. Thank you, Mrs. Potter, I'm sure that you must be getting back to your office before your . . ." here he trailed off "_husband_ arrives." The last part was said with obvious distaste.

She narrowed her eyes at him, sending chocolate lightning at him. "I was well aware of that."

And with that she Apparated. He was not surprised, when, minutes after, he heard someone berating her for Apparating by herself. Apparently, Potter was worrying about her splinching herself.

He snorted. Ginevra? Splinching? Very, very unlikely.

And so he packed up. Another day's work done.

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Go on, review already.

Okay. Somebody said that they don't see any of the canon characters working in a jewellery store. Actually, neither did I, but it was either that or the fashion industry. :) I think they look better in the jewellery store . . . I knew you agreed with me.


	14. Theodore Nott's Ring

Theodore Nott's Ring

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter etc. LIKE DUH! Why would I write fanfiction if I did?

Hermione let herself into her office that morning, and put her things down and smiled. Today was the deadline for Nott's ring, and no one had seen the ring. Some people claimed that it didn't exist, but she knew that it did.

She remembered the day that Nott came into her business, and she'd tried to hide the surprise at seeing this man in her, a Mudblood's office.

_He'd gone straight to the point. "Need not look so surprised, Miss Granger. I have an engagement ring that must be made in one month for a lovely lady. Your best craftsman must make it." _

"_I have no craftsmen here, only craftswomen," she had said, with a professional smile curving her mouth._

"_You have one craftsman whose potential is unrealized. Here is the design, the silver and two emeralds. See that he does it."_

_Hermione had sat in her office, and suddenly Draco came into her office. _

"_Why so confused?" he asked her. "I just saw Theodore Nott leave the office. Does he have anything to do with it?"_

"_Yes. He said that he wants a craftsman to make a ring. One whose potential is unrealized."_

_A look of surprise came into his eyes. "I know of him."_

It was after that she'd hired him. After Mike fell sick, she knew that it was Draco. That was it.

But now, she wanted to see it. She had to see what he had made. Though, if it was anything like The Gold Dragon, she knew it would be good. She remembered that Dragon, almost warm to the touch, instead of cool gold. She wanted to see it again.

She heard the slight, soft click of the door outside. She knew it was him. She opened her door, and just as he set his things down she slipped into his office. "Good morning Draco," she said.

"Good morning Hermione," he replied and kissed her. "Why visit so early? I was just coming to greet you."

"Nott's ring. May I see it?"

He smiled, and pulled a box from his pocket, a black velvet covered box, and he handed it to her. "Here."

She took it from him, took a deep breath. Then she flipped it open, and a sharp gasp came from her.

A silver snake coiled around a band of matching silver, glaring malevolently at her out of gleaming emerald eyes. She watched it, sleek, deadly, dangerous, almost mesmerized at its power. Draco snapped in front of her eyes.

"It's cursed," he said.

He took it from her, and she peered over his shoulder at it. "It doesn't look as angry."

"It does that. Sometimes I swear that it's alive. . . ."

She nodded. "Yes." She remembered Harry's problem with speaking Parseltongue to carved snakes; he would have no problem with this one.

"What do you think of it?" he asked her, softly.

"It's magnificent," she murmured, just as softly as he did. "Sinuous . . . Sleek . . . Dangerous . . . Lethal."

Her imagination showed it becoming somewhat more forgiving, almost smiling.

"It is the essence of Slytherin. The dark side. Yet it is beautiful."

"Good. That is what I was trying to capture."

When she looked up at him, she almost shuddered at the look on his face. It was dark, brooding, like the ruthless, devious, deadly man that she knew he could be if he wanted to. She was almost frightened, almost. Not quite.

She calmed herself. "I like it," she said, quietly.

"Despite the curse?"

"Requirement. I do like it."

He nodded at her. "In a way it is like The Gold Dragon. It reflects Nott, depending on his mood. Or it will. For know, it answers to me."

She liked the choice of words. And she told him so.

"No sarcasm intended?" he asked her.

"None."

Suddenly, he smiled at her. It changed the look entirely, and it was not even like any other smile she'd ever seen from him. It was a grin, a charming grin that had her thrilling from the tips of her toes to the hair on her head. Draco unguarded. "Thank you," he said to her. "Very glad you like it. From a Gryffindor, that was surprising."

"I was a unity person," she said, replying the smile. "Here." She handed the little box to him, and it disappeared onto his person again.

"Good. And here is a kiss for the morning," she said, and tiptoed and kissed him, long, hot, and sensual. He picked her up so that she reached his height, and continued to kiss her. When he put her down, she smiled.

"Well done," she said, and he grinned again.

"I'm glad you like it. Now, what was I doing? Oh yes," he said, "We have to go and talk to Laura."

She raised her eyebrow.

"My paycheck, of course."

She nodded. "Of course. But that would come later. Why are you visiting Laura?"

"Are you getting jealous?" he asked, with a smirk.

She snorted. "No."

"Come," and he Apparated outside of the door of the office.

He knocked on the door, hard. There was no answer. He sighed. Then he opened the door.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in sudden realization. "You have to break up the morning snog session, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes." Then, he said, "Kevyn! Laura! Snap out of it."

Laura reluctantly let go of Kevyn. "Good morning, Draco, Hermione," she said, in a soft voice.

"Likewise," remarked Kevyn. Hermione smiled.

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Draco was in the room when the knock on the door came, but he didn't bother to Apparate. Instead, he stood behind Hermione, not imposing, but lounging.

Theodore Nott opened the door and stepped in, a smile on his thin face. He was no longer rat like, but still thin. It was hard to believe that, like Draco, he had enormous power in the wizarding world, not for his money, but for his mere existence.

"Good morning, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione inclined her head graciously, and Draco did not move a muscle. Nott smiled; he was after all, accustomed to him. He sat in the chair, and he got straight to the point.

"So. You found your master craftsman, didn't you." It was not a question.

"Yes, I did. Thank you," she replied. "Here."

She handed him the small box on the table, and he opened it. A smirk spread across his face, and he looked up at Malfoy. His eyebrow twitched in recognition. "It is well made," commented Nott. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

He pulled out a sheaf of Muggle paper money. "Here."

Hermione nodded, sifted through it, and smiled. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Nott."

"Likewise Miss Granger."

"Nott," said Draco, before he got up to leave, "A word. In my office."

A curt nod was given to his request, and Nott left first.

Draco turned to Hermione, and said "I'll be over at Le Café in a minute, alright?"

She nodded. "See you."

Malfoy followed Theodore into the green and silver office, and propped on the desk. "So, Nott, how have things been with you?"

"No need for chitchat, what is with you and Granger?"

The infamous eyebrow arched in question. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You're stuck on her."

Draco did not snort, but merely smiled. "So what if I am?"

Nott laughed. "Finally. A woman who controls you."

"It hasn't happened yet."

"But it will, won't it?"

"And what makes you think that?"

Nott sighed, exasperatedly. "I know you too well for the mind games, Draco, and you're stuck on her. Two things. One, you should know that I kept tabs on you."

"It was quite obvious."

"Two, the mere way that you look at her, or talk to her, or anything, is indication enough. You've fallen hard. She has you wrapped around her little finger."

Malfoy did snort this time. "I doubt it very highly."

Theodore nodded. "You can if you want, but that doesn't change my opinion . . . I expect to attend the wedding."

"Speaking of marriage, who are you marrying?" asked Draco, evading the question.

"That girl that was in the year below us." He gave a name.

"Oh yes, her. She was always a looker."

Nott nodded. "Well, Draco Malfoy, it has been nice meeting once again with one of the most notorious Slytherins—most notorious students—that Hogwarts has ever seen. I bid you good bye, although . . . Expect to see an interesting article in either Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet next week."

The incline of Draco's head implied the question, but he said, "Well, Theodore Nott, it has been nice meeting with you once again. Good afternoon. I have a lunch date with a certain Miss Granger that has to be kept. I will keep in touch."

Theodore Nott nodded, and walked out of the door.

Draco tidied everything in the room with a sweep of his wand, and again, remembered Nott's words. _She has you wrapped around her little finger_.

He doubted that highly.

But then again, was it such a bad place to be?

He set off across the road, and made a mental note to read the Daily Prophet, and ugh Witch Weekly, everyday next week.

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Okay, this was not one of my best chapters at all. I'm not proud of it, but I am recovering from writer's block, and I think the next chapter will be better.

So here are responses:

**Sunny June 46**: At first I was in two minds whether or not your review was a positive one, but when I reread it appeared to be positive, but this story will have fluff. I am a bit of a fluff lover. :)

**Athena Linborn**: Yes, I know that Ginny's name is Ginevra. But I'd already written the chapter before I found out, and I couldn't be bothered to change it. However, I think that she used the Vs to confuse Draco :) Glad you like the chappie.

**Strutters mama**: THANK YOU! I'm glad you think so . . . you really are hooked? Cool. And yeah, it is another interesting discussion. I think though, that unless something happens, she won't. That's one of my Canon ships.

**Angelic Night Goddess**: (Cackles, smiles evilly) oh yeah . . . that chapter was the second one I wrote . . . .:D

Everyone who reviewed and said they loved the story: THANK YOU! HUGGLES!


	15. The Cream Meeting Room

**The Cream Meeting Room**

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Like duh! I'd so change the Half Blood Prince. At first, I couldn't write for a while, but then, I concentrated. Now I can. I still will love Draco and this ship.

On with the story!

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On Thursday, after the shop closed to customers, Hermione called a meeting.

Ginny was not really surprised, and indeed, had been wondering when she was going to do that. Her conversations with Draco in a corner of Le Café were mostly about what would happen at the turn of the season. And most of them, Ginny either overheard or Hermione told her much of the same things.

They were in the meeting room at the end of the corridor of offices. Ginny had always liked this room. The carpet was a soft, plush cream one that was a couple of shades darker than the well spaced walls. In the centre, beautiful, always comfortable wood chairs were clustered around a large table. The blank walls were absolutely perfect for any sort of slide shows.

It was in here some of the most surprising announcements were made—in the first year, the decision to take photos; in here, the decision to hire people; the sorting of the mail and the most recent trip to France. Some of things in here were not that important, but it always a feeling of accomplishment. She'd been with Hermione when this place had been started, and it had become so much larger.

Ginny looked around, a hand affectionately on her stomach where she could feel one of her babies squirming around. It always made her feel rather warm and fuzzy, just thinking about it. It also made her rather scared. She knew that Harry was slightly unnerved, never having to deal with small children, let alone babies. But she wasn't worried—Harry should be wonderful with their children.

"Good afternoon to you all," said Hermione, and instantly the minor chatter ceased. Hermione was wearing a bright red suit with her hair in an elegant one. The look suited her.

"Good afternoon, Hermione," Ginny replied with everyone else, with variations.

Hermione had her ankles lapped to the side. "Now as you know, summer will soon be coming to an end—it is after all July."

"Don't remind me," Ginny murmured, rather snidely, and Laura who was sitting opposite her sent her a smirk.

"As I was saying," said Hermione looking supremely unconcerned, "Autumn will soon be upon us and as you all know that means a change in fashion, and hence a change in the window, and to a lesser extent a change in demands. An increase, actually. Winter beckons."

Ginny was watching Draco, who was doodling on a piece of paper.

"But enough of that—let's get down to business." She waved her wand and brought up a picture of the showroom downstairs.

"I want to renovate."

There was a silence after this.

"But Hermione," remarked Laura, very sensibly, "there's not much space to renovate. Only about the space of about three rooms."

"I know. However I don't think you are aware of the charm on all of the rooms in this office. Each room can hold more than its actual capacity thanks to the spells. Oh they are large," she said, seeing the looks on the Muggle employees' faces, "But they can hold more than you would think."

She poked at the small image and showed them. Then she sent it down the line so that everyone could look at it.

"So what do you intend to do with the extra space?" asked Draco, examining it with a seeming boredom. Brushing a piece of red hair out of her eyes, she now understood that this meant that he was paying great attention.

"I intend to expand the showroom a little. Also, I would like to expand the workrooms," she gave a gentle nod to Mike and M.J. "We would only have to buy the three rooms that were previously in use in this building—not much to connect them, just a few spells."

There was an all-round nod: although the Muggles were not entirely comfortable with the entire proceedings they didn't want to have to pay the amount that was used for Muggle renovations.

'And of course with the new space would come—"

"New staff," said Laura, now admiring the model. "I figured as much. When are you planning on hiring them?"

"I was hoping to start interviews in two weeks time just before we do the renovation. But I hope this time that we have no problems in getting the notices out."

There was a groan. Everyone remembered the fiasco involved with the advertising for Draco's position, actually, though Ginny would never admit it, she was actually rather desperate when he came and she was quite glad that it hadn't been somebody worse.

The man understood—he wasn't stupid. A slow smirk began to tease across his features.

"Oh, I think you'll have no problems whatsoever," he drawled, looking contented.

"You wouldn't know," retorted Ryan, speaking for the first time, "You weren't here, after all."

"I was aware of that," he said dryly. "But perhaps you misunderstand."

From his seat next to Laura who was opposite Ginny, he passed a sheaf of newspapers. As they approached her, she noticed that there weren't all newspapers, but magazines. The pictures were moving, at least in a few of them.

"I've marked the page in the Prophet," he said.

There was a rather audible snort from Hermione. "And what does it have to say today?"

"Oh, and look who's talking about biased," he retorted, but he was smiling.

Ginny saw Ryan's brilliant blue eyes roll.

"Interrupting this touching conversation," said M.J., with a touch of dryness to it, unusual for her, "The rest of us are in the dark here, and we do not appreciate it."

"Actually she has a point there. What is going on?" Ginny seconded.

Hermione skimmed through all of three of them. Ginny discovered that if she put herself in a most uncomfortable position, she could read over Hermione's shoulder.

And in the papers were stories, articles about a jewellery store located opposite a café.

"Ginny, sit down properly, will you?' scolded Hermione, and handed her the Daily Prophet. The pregnant woman gambit. Always works, thought Ginny, with a not quite innocent grin.

"Well?" asked Mike, impatient, speaking for her sister.

The redhead read aloud. "This elegant jewellery store is becoming a competition to _Borgin and Burkes_, in the popular Nocturn Alley, and _Sparkle!_ in Diagon Alley."

A soft chuckle came from Draco. "Borgin and Burkes. Really." He passed down the Quibbler to Laura. "You should be flattered Hermione."

"Competing with Dark Objects and blackmail? Oh, I am."

"And those are what?" asked Latonya, who previously, had been very silent.

Ryan explained to her, Tanisha and Sam. "Diagon Alley is sort of like the wizard version of . . . um London in general. It's got everything there that we need. Nocturn Alley—two words—actually is"

"Rather shady," said Draco with a reminiscent smile.

Ginny couldn't help but roll her eyes. "As I was saying. Previously, the popular Sparkle! was almost incomparable. Then Hogwarts' most brilliant student of her time—"

Hermione turned a faint shade of pink. "Nonsense."

"Besides Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Lived," she sighed at his title.

"Isn't that your husband?" asked Latonya.

"Yes. Long story. 'Put her mind to a new venture, and Jewellery Exquisite was the result of her brainchild."

"They haven't lost their talent at writing nonsense," said Hermione.

Ginny grinned. 'I'm in here too 'Ginny Potter, nee Weasley, the beautiful, powerful wife of Harry Potter'. But to cut a long article short, it basically sums up popularity, says that your beautiful shop is one of those popular in the whole of Britain, is very good."

Draco looked up over his interlaced fingers. "Tell them what they said about me. They might find it interesting."

"Oh yes, where was it? 'The dangerous, slightly unbalanced, yet highly handsome ex Death Eater'. There's also a snide comment about the amazing turnout of Hogwarts students from our year."

"Better than Witch Weekly," cut in Hermione dryly. "You are one of the most eligible wizarding bachelors, supposedly dangerously handsome, with a drawl described as 'chocolate for the ears' and two time winner of the Best Smile."

"I didn't know that," said Ryan, interestedly.

"I didn't know I was a bachelor," he said. Ginny got the impression that his eyes had done the merest flick to Hermione. She had to be imagining it, because now he was looking at Ryan.

"Apparently." Now she decided that she hadn't imagined it. Hermione seemed rather . . . displeased. "Don't go getting a swelled head, Draco."

"I?" He pretended to look injured. "Now, when was I ever like that . . .?"

Hermione and Ginny snorted together. "I can recall numerous instances . . . something about Mudblood? Only in fifth year or sixth year . . ." asked Hermione, sweetly.

"Break it up," said Kevyn, "Though this is a most amusing conversation."

He received two looks of murderous propensities.

Ginny decided to intercede so that Laura didn't become a widow before she was even engaged. "What does Luna say?"

The Quibbler, which Luna had taken over, was one of the foremost magazines. She still posted absurd articles occasional, but sometimes the absurd was true. Her magazine was a hard hitting one, and kept the current Ministry of Magic on their toes. Luna had also become . . . . interested in Neville. She would be a godmother of one of the twins. Along with Hermione, and Tonks.

She was interrupted from her reminiscing by Hermione saying "She says that this medium sized shop is one of the best in London. She says that the employees are extremely well informed, and that recent addition Draco Malfoy seems to fit right in. She mentions that coming from a rich pureblood family he is natural at the job and an excellent professional."

"She seems the most sensible," said Laura. "Better than mad ex murderer—or whatever it was—or winner of the best smile thing."

"I assure you that all articles have a grain of truth," he said, quite smoothly, his hand absentmindedly—or so it appeared—holding his left arm. "But I shall return to the original reason for producing these interesting articles. The publicity."

Laura smiled, a little uncertainly, no doubt pondering his comment. "True. And I think with all of this, we need a Public Relations Officer."

"I know the person for the job," said Hermione, softly. "But the point that Draco was making is this: I don't think we'll have that same problem again with trying to get hold of people. It'll be easier than in April."

"How far we've come," Tanisha said, her voice softly. "In wizarding magazines, and in only a few months. I do think we should have some sort of a toast."

"A celebration is coming up in September," said Ginny.

"Really, get this meeting back to business," said Hermione, blushing again. "Now. I was saying. We should start to advertise a lot earlier this time, perhaps this week, in the Muggle and Wizard newspapers."

"We should have no problems. I don't have a Muggle paper, but I'm a little surprised none of you have seen the articles yet," said Draco, in a tone that said clearly what he meant: _I thought I was supposed to be the Muggle hater, and here I am knowing about things in Muggle magazines before Muggles._

There was a silence. Then, someone said "Goodness, man, what other tricks have you up your sleeve?"

Ginny thought that it was Ryan who asked, but she remembered Draco's answer. Perfectly.

"I'm sure you wouldn't be interested," he said, exhibiting his famous drawl, and she saw the tiny flick of his eyes to Hermione. He was wearing his platinum blond hair in a ponytail, as usual.

Quite the contrary.

'Let's wrap up this meeting," said Hermione. "It's time for us to be getting home."

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It was over fairly soon, and suddenly Ginny remembered something. As they were filing out, she walked over to Draco.

"How did you know?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"None of us old Hogwarts group reads those magazines. I know you don't. So . . . ?"

He sighed, and said softly, "Theodore Nott. It has his fingerprints all over most of it." His grey eyes looked disturbed for a moment, as he looked at her. "Perceptive, are you, Miss Weasley—Potter." He added it on as an afterthought, as if he suddenly remembered her marriage.

"Thank you."

She left him behind and walked into Hermione's office. "Hello. Tired?"

"A little," said her friend. "Not much. I was just remembering . . ."

Ginny knew what she was remembering. That, had not Ron disappeared, she wouldn't have been here. But—did any of them want it any different?

"I really know what Cho felt like," murmured Hermione. Checking her door was closed she said lightly, "I think I'll make Ryan PRO."

"Public relations officer?" asked Ginny. A good choice . . . she was bubbly, energetic, enthusiastic, and understood the best of both worlds—which were still rather separate. After the war, the Muggles knew a little of the existence of the Wizarding world, but it was for a select few, and even for most of them knowledge was limited. It had taken a while for the staff of Jewellery Exquisite to explain some of the secrets of their world, but they had not told them everything.

"Yes. What do you think?"

"Will she get a new office?"

"Probably . . . . I think there's space."

"She's a good choice. Actually, she's perfect."

"Glad you think so . . . Hark, I hear Harry."

They both did. Ginny opened the door and went out to meet him.

"Good afternoon, Gin, how have you behaved today?"

"Perfectly well, thank you very much," Ginny said, indignantly, and received a kiss. She felt . . . so warm, happy, and loved.

And she couldn't hate Malfoy if he did that for Hermione, could she.

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Another chapter! I apologize . . . HUGE WRITER'S BLOCK. I couldn't write for weeks . . .and then I sat down and this just . . . wrote itself. I gave chocolate to the muses for it.

Reader responses:

**Sunny June 46**: I realized, and I appreciated it, too. It was a really good one. But yeah, too much fluff gets on my nerves . . . but I am a fluff at heart.

And yes, actually, the title was the inspiration for the story. I saw the title and Hermione immediately came to mind. I just decided to . . . tweak the name around. But no, I haven't read the book: it's only recently mum's allowing to me read adult books. I only turned fourteen a month ago, you know.

**Serlene**: Thanks! But no, I didn't like it . . . I like this one though.

**HgBookworm**: Sort of, but not really, it just was in my head. Sort of thing Draco would do. At least, to me. ****

Now, that's definitely a compliment_. Attempts to blush_, fails, complexion too dark.

Everyone else: THANK YOU! I hope you like this chapter! It's great. Oh, yeah, to clear up one thing, I didn't know Ginny's name before I started writing this. I just used Virginia.

Review! Help me reach seventy!


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